When Our Stars Cross
by StrikeTeam
Summary: Months after the collapse of Shield, Elise thinks she's finally free of the turmoil that came with being part of an undercover Hydra operation. That's until her former research subject crashes back into her life, dragging the remnants of a complicated history with him. Elise has two choices: turn a blind eye to this man's troubled past... or face her own. (Spinoff of Strike Out)
1. Reintroductions

_Author's note: It's been quite a while, hasn't it? It's been just over a year since I first published Strike Out, and I never got around to writing the Jack Rollins spinoff. That being said, I've been itching to write *something* in the Marvel Universe, so I finally settled on this. It's a spinoff/sequel of sorts, set after the events of CATWS and my last fic, Strike Out (so you'll have to read that to understand the references and characters). A lot of you commented on the chemistry that Elise & Bucky had in that fic, so I wanted to explore that a bit in this… experiment, of sorts. It's a little bit friendship, a little bit of romance, and a little bit of hurt/comfort, but it's also a work in progress. It likely won't be as long as Strike Out, and I can't promise it will even be completed. It all depends on what you guys think. Let me know! Also, I now have a tumblr for writing-related things, find me at 'strikewrites' on tumblr. - strike_

* * *

The first time I hear the knocking, I assume it's just a figment of my imagination—a by-product of the vicious wind gusts howling through the trees outside. When I realize there's someone at the door, the situation starts to resemble the beginning of a cliché horror movie.

Suffice it to say, I decide to let the knocking pass. After all, I'm not expecting any guests, and I'm also not eager to become a serial killer's next victim.

The knocking stops abruptly, and a long silence passes. Then there's a different knocking, one coming from the door that connects my basement apartment suite to my roommate's, upstairs.

I cross the floor and open the door slightly, and Sena's concerned face comes into view. Her long black hair is done up in a bun, and her scowl signifies that she's interrupted her valuable studying time for this.

"Elise, there's some guy here to see you. He says you're not answering the door. Didn't you hear the knocking?"

"What does he look like? I wasn't expecting anyone." I feel the tendrils of dread tugging at my heart.

"Um… Unshaven, kind of scary looking. It looks like he has a metal hand—"

I don't hear the rest of her observations. My brain has already tuned out completely.

 _It couldn't be him_. It's been months since I last dropped him off at the Smithsonian, and I doubted I'd ever see him again. How did he find me?

"I didn't let him in. Do you want me to tell him that you're sleeping and to come back tomorrow? It's kind of late." Sena glances at her watch.

Maybe she's right. I don't know what he's been up to this whole time… maybe he went back to Hydra and he's here to eliminate me for them.

Still, if he's here to assassinate me, I doubt he'd knock on my door to do it, or—even worse—let someone else know he's looking for me. This is still The Winter Soldier that we're talking about. No, if he's here at 11:30 on a Sunday night, he has nowhere else to go and it's important.

"It's okay. I know who you're talking about now, and I'm sure it's an emergency if he's here. Tell him to come back around to my door." I reply, but she doesn't seem so certain. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and stares at me critically.

"You sure, Elise?"

"I'm sure, Sena. Thanks." I flash my most convincing smile at her as I close the door and lock it.

Her footsteps retreat down the hall, and I head down the stairs to wait by the entrance to my basement suite.

After a few minutes, there's a light rap on the door.

I open it just wide enough to peer out into the darkness and, sure enough, find the former "asset" standing on my doorstep, carrying a duffle bag in one hand, his other clutching his left abdomen.

It's only then that I realize he's bleeding profusely, the stain visible even on his dark shirt, and I wonder how on earth Sena could have neglected to mention such a serious thing to me.

"Oh god, what happened to you?" I throw the door open, ushering him in.

He takes a step inside, dropping the bag as he winces. I look around on the porch, praying that he hasn't left a trail of blood along the garden path, and then close the door, locking it behind me.

"I got attacked." He replies, gritting his teeth in pain.

"Sit down," I lead him by the arm to the living room, concern furrowing my brow, "I'll try to take a look at it, but I'm not a doctor."

Not a medical one, anyway.

"I have things in my bag." He points towards the duffle bag still sitting in the foyer, and I pray there's at least one roll of suture thread in there.

Luck is on my side. Not only is there a first-aid kit, but it includes needles and suture thread.

When I'm satisfied that he's seated comfortably on the couch, I hurry into the kitchen to gather supplies: two rolls of paper towels, a new dish cloth, a tub of water, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the bathroom.

Once all the supplies have been gathered and I'm seated on the coffee table before him, he removes his sweater, then his t-shirt. Thankfully it's a fairly even stab wound, and it doesn't look like it'll need cauterizing. Great, because I sure as hell know nothing about how to do that.

As I move his bloody shirt to the floor beside the couch, it hits me that I should be wearing gloves. I don't have any—not even a pair of rubber gloves for dishwashing, and the last thing I want to do is ask Sena for some. 'Hi Sena, I just let a scary looking metal-armed dude who I apparently "know" into my house on a Sunday night, do you have any gloves I could borrow?' How suspicious would that look?

He must have noticed the concern on my face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you." His voice is reduced to a low volume, presumably to avoid exacerbating the pain caused by excess movement. Still, I'm impressed by his pain threshold. The cut may not be overly deep-thank God-but it's at least 3 and a half inches, and that's not a walk in the park.

I soak a paper towel and gently wipe away the wet blood first, feeling his muscles tense beneath my fingers.

"Don't be sorry. You could have gotten an infection and died. How did you find out where I'm staying?" I attempt to distract him from the procedure by filling the silence, but I'm not sure he's in any state to answer my questions. His eyes are closed, his jaw clenched tightly as I remove the last of the blood.

"I was keeping Hydra's people away." He replies. My hands involuntarily freeze at these words.

"Fr-from me?"

He nods.

Shit. Hydra's looking for me, _still_? Why?

I clean the last of the blood off and wipe the area with the dishtowel soaked in rubbing alcohol. He inhales sharply, and I sympathize. How strange it is that the last time we found ourselves in this situation was when he'd just finished sparring with the STRIKE team. Feels like a century ago, now.

Remembering the STRIKE team dregs up other unpleasant memories I'd rather not entertain. Memories about a particular man. I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to think of other things.

"Why are they looking for me?"

So much for thinking of other things. I need to know, though. I mean, last I saw of Rumlow, he was a write-off. He couldn't be behind this manhunt, could he?

He shrugs, and the frown on his lips is new, not caused by the pain of his wound. The way his eyes avoid my gaze, his shoulders slumped, makes me feel like he's carrying some kind of guilt.

"They were probably looking for me. It's my fault for asking you for help with the tracking chip." He replies finally.

"That's not your fault." I blurt it out without thinking, even though he could easily be right.

The way his eyes momentarily fill with relief is worth it.

There's so much I want to ask him. Where did he go after the downfall of Shield? What has he been doing? Did he run into Captain America?

At the same time, I don't want to overwhelm him, at least until his wound is properly bandaged up and I can get him to eat a proper meal.

Goddamn if it doesn't feel like a lost puppy just landed on my doorstep.

"How did Sena not realize you were bleeding to death on her porch?" I mumble to myself, feeding the suture thread through the eye of a needle.

"It's better that she didn't. I can't go to the hospital." He braces himself as I begin to stitch the wound closed, his hands clenching the couch cushions tightly.

For a fleeting moment, I remember all the warnings I'd received at Shield about his tendency to lash out when he's in pain. I brush them off almost immediately, assuring myself that he won't hurt me. He didn't hurt me back then, when I took the tracking chip out of his arm. He wouldn't come to me now only to risk hurting me.

It makes me wonder how many of those warnings were real and how many of them were just meant to scare me into staying away from him.

I snap out of my thoughts long enough to remember his recent words. As much as I understand why he can't go to the hospital, it's concerning that he could have died if I hadn't been here. Had I not answered the door.

"Stay here until your wound heals, okay? I'll take care of you. I don't want you passing out somewhere."

"But—"

"Bucky, please." I hold my breath after the words leave my lips.

Hearing his name surprises him a little, and his eyes are filled with a mixture of emotions before they quickly flicker away. He doesn't respond for a long time.

"I don't want to burden you. You've done enough." He finally says.

"Oh, stop. You're not a burden. You're not my subject, or an asset, or even an assassin. You're my friend." I return his gaze with a steady smile. Like hell would I turn down someone I know when they're in need, not after the death and destruction I witnessed at Hydra's hands, not when he's been keeping Hydra scum away from me this whole time. I owe him.

The phrase "you're my friend" seems to stir something in him. He doesn't speak again.

I tie off the stitches, feeling secretly proud of my fairly neat execution despite my limited experience. Dr. Jones would be proud, wherever she is now. _If_ she didn't turn out to be a Hydra agent too, that is.

I disinfect the wound one more time with the rubbing alcohol, just to be safe, then set about gathering the bloodied material to dispose of it all.

"I don't know if you've eaten, but I'll cook you something anyway. You don't have to eat it, but it would make me feel better to know you're looked after at least. Help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen and the bathroom is down the hall on your left if you need it."

I make a mental note to put the bloodied clothing in the wash and to see whether I have any gently used, men's size shirts lying about.

"And Bucky," I pause, watching his gaze fixate on me, "don't thank me. I'm the one who should thank you, for keeping those Hydra agents away, and for coming to check on me that time at the hospital."

He doesn't reply, but I hope he understands. When he feels bad about asking me for help, it makes _me_ feel bad. Maybe Hydra conditioned him not to rely on others for kindness.

I frown, gazing down at the blood stains beginning to dry on my hands.

If I can undo just one of Hydra's evil actions, I'd be happy.


	2. Doubt

"You're doing _what_ , Elise?" Sena looks at me like I've just suggested the stupidest idea in the world, and I begin to second-guess my decision to tell her about my plans.

Still, it's only fair for her to know that a strange man is going to be staying at my place for a couple days, maybe a week. It's her house after all, and even though we're friends, she's my legal landlord.

I sigh.

"I know it sounds crazy after the way he showed up yesterday. But he really just needs a place to stay for a little while, and I could never forgive myself if I let him go."

I didn't mention the injury to her; best not to rouse her suspicions.

She stares at me critically for a while, then crosses her arms, turning away.

"Let me guess, this is Shield-related." Her tone is somewhere between resignation and fatigue, and it reminds me of the way my mother used to deal with my minor rebellions.

I haven't told Sena anything about my time at Shield. I thought the less anyone knew, the better. It's too complicated to explain to anyone, anyway. What am I supposed to say? _Oh, Hydra kidnapped captain America 's best friend, kept him frozen for half a decade, wiped his memory and used him as an assassin all while staying under Shield's radar_.

Hell, maybe they'd believe me. Stranger things have happened since the sky split open and dropped thousands of aliens on New York City.

But anyway, Bucky's secret isn't mine to tell.

"Yeah, let's just say he's a good guy and we were both stuck in the same mess. He helped me out back then, so I owe him a favour." I opt for a less complicated explanation.

"Are you sure he's safe? He looks a little... Unstable." Sena rubs her temples.

Okay, so he _did_ look a _tiny_ bit feral in his unshaved, long-haired state, and seeing his face contorted in stifled pain probably only magnified the wild killer look.

I make a mental note to suggest he cleans himself up a bit before he leaves on his own again.

"He just hasn't had time to shave or get a haircut in a while. For some more than others, it was hard to cope with the fall of shield." I explain, and Sena mulls over my answer. She finally seems convinced.

"Alright, Elise. I'm sure you know this guy better than I do." She shrugs, returning to the painting she was working on.

Ha, know him better than you? Barely.

"Thanks, Sena." I've got one foot in the hall when she calls my name.

"If you feel like you're in trouble, or if you ever want advice, you can talk to me." She adjusts her glasses, leaving a blue smudge on the bridge of her nose.

"I appreciate it." I smile, "And you've got paint on your face."

With that matter settled, I take my leave and head back to my apartment. I left about half an hour ago to see Sena, and I haven't seen Bucky yet this morning. He has use of my guest room/office space, so I assume he slept in.

As I'm locking the door behind me, I hear the distinctive sound of something shattering.

My breath catches for a moment, and I hear her words echo in my mind _. Is he safe?_

Maybe… maybe Sena was right. Maybe I made that decision too rashly, maybe I should have waited before promising that he could stay here. I was so overwhelmed, seeing him wounded like that… the decision seemed like a no-brainer at the time.

It's hard to ignore the ghosts of the past as they repeat all the warnings I ignored during my time at shield. Warnings about the nature of the project, about Rumlow…

I step cautiously into the kitchen doorway and the source of the sound becomes clear.

He freezes at the sound of my arrival, his blue eyes flickering up to meet mine, his figure crouching beside the pieces of a shattered dish. Much to my relief, I see that he's taken the initiative to cut his hair and shave—just a slight 5 o'clock shadow remains.

"Sorry, I… I thought I'd wash the dishes for you." A slight mixture of shame and embarrassment colours his face as he gathers the sharp fragments.

"Nah, don't worry about it. All my plates are cheap anyway." I pick up the trash can beside the door and cross the floor to help him gather the pieces. I'm so pleased that he wanted to do something for me that it momentarily washes away my concerns about safety. Elise, you're an idiot. A trusting, naïve idiot.

"You should be resting. You shouldn't move around too much until your cut heals a bit." I steal a glance at his face, but the neutral expression has returned, and I can't read him.

"I shouldn't stay here." He replies.

I frown, but I don't respond right away. Thanks to Sena I'd already had doubts, but hearing _him_ say those words makes me question my decision even more. I didn't even think about his feelings. He's been a caged bird under Hydra for so long, I don't want to make him feel like he's my prisoner, even if I have _far_ better intentions than Hydra.

I feel a slight sting in my right palm, and open my hand to reveal a fragment of the plate I'd been holding on to. Its jagged edge has left a slight cut, and blood is beginning to seep out along the line.

"I'll stay, if that's what you want." He adds. Maybe I looked troubled by his words, or maybe he regretted sounding ungrateful. I'm not sure what it was.

"I don't want to force you to stay." I shake my head, "I absolutely don't want that. You're free now. I'm just worried you'll run into someone like that and hurt yourself."

He frowns, his gaze flickering away.

"Free, huh?" He says the words softly, "It feels the same."

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't, not right away. He seems kind of frozen in thought, and when I reach out to pick up a fragment near his hand, he suddenly startles, instinctively moving away.

"Sorry, I… I need to step out." He stands, heading for the backyard door.

I want to ask if he'll be back, but he's already gone by the time I open my mouth. An uneasy silence fills the house. I'm worried about his wound, but he hasn't taken his things with him, so he can't be going far at least.

I clean up the remainder of the broken plate and then tend to cut on my palm.

An hour passes, and then another. I don't know why I'm watching the clock so closely; he's not my son. He's a capable, grown man, and a skilled assassin at that. He can handle himself…Unless he opened his wound again and is lying in an alley somewhere, bleeding to death.

No, Elise. I don't need a new source of worry in my life, and he doesn't need a babysitter.

It takes a long time before I finally gather the courage to make the call.

 _"_ _What, Elise is actually calling me? Are you ill? Or are you inviting me to your wedding?"_ Dr. Nikolav's cheerful voice is enough to put a smile on my face.

"What wedding? This is the first I'm hearing of it." I humour him with a joking reply. He gives a hearty laugh.

 _"_ _Well, what's the special occasion then? And please tell me you're planning to drop by the lab sometime this century. I haven't seen you in a year! Not since… "_ He trails off, his voice taking on a sober tone.

"Yeah… Not since the downfall of Shield. Actually, this is kind of about that." I sigh, not knowing where to even begin the story.

 _"_ _What happened? Are you alright?"_ He sounds alarmed, and I shake my head furiously for a moment before I remember that I'm on the phone and he can't see the action.

"I'm fine, I promise. Do you remember James Barnes, the assassin I introduced you to when you came to my house?" I bite my lip, wondering how he's going to react to this ridiculous story I'm about to tell.

 _"_ _The Winter Soldier, right? What happened to him?"_

"Well… he kinda showed up at my house with a stab wound. Apparently Hydra has been sending people after me, and he's been dealing with them. I didn't know until yesterday." I pause to let him absorb the revelation.

 _"_ _Is he still working for Hydra?"_

"I don't think so. I don't think he'd go back to an organization that kept him prisoner like that." I reply, but how would I know? I only assumed he didn't work for them anymore. He said he was keeping Hydra's people away. Is he still involved with them somehow?

Then there are those strange words… _It feels the same,_ he said. How can freedom feel the same as being a mind-controlled weapon?

Unless he's still serving _someone_.

 _"_ _Elise?"_

I snap out of my spiral of thoughts.

"Sorry, Dr. Nikolav. I tuned out," I apologize, "I honestly don't know much. He's very distant. He's not even here right now, he stepped out a few hours ago even though I told him he shouldn't aggravate his wound."

Dr. Nikolav sighs on the other end of the line, and it's a tired, defeated sigh. All at once, I feel like it's not Bucky, but _me_ who is being a burden. First Sena, then Dr. Nikolav… it feels like everyone is a disappointed, weary parent that I'm causing trouble for.

 _"_ _Do you trust him?"_ There it is again, that damn word.

"I don't really trust anyone anymore, Dr. Nikolav." I reply honestly. To my surprise, he laughs.

 _"_ _That's a good answer! Sounds like something from a Hollywood movie."_ I'm surprised he can joke about such a serious topic. Then again, it's Dr. Nikolav; I shouldn't be surprised.

"Really though, what did you think of him? I never asked you at the time." I frown, glancing at the clock again. Damn it, I really need to kill this habit.

 _"_ _He was pretty easy to read, if you ask me. He was like an innocent kid, locked up in the body of an assassin. Very distant, but I think there's a good heart under the armour. Not like your ex-boyfriend… he was just scary."_ I can hear his smile through the phone, and the reference to Rumlow isn't lost on me. He's trying to help me get over him in his own humour-driven way.

 _"_ _I think the boy just needs to be rehabilitated into society."_ He continues, " _Is there a way you can get him out of the house? Why don't you bring him to visit the lab?"_

"Are you sure you're okay with that? I mean, having an assassin just hanging about in your lab?" I joke. I don't even know if Bucky would be down for a random, recreational day trip. I don't think he considers me a friend, really. Just someone he owes a debt to.

 _"_ _I have 2 grant proposals to write and I could use the distraction. And so could you, I think."_ He replies. Well, he's not wrong.

"I'll see what he says. No promises!" I warn, "Thanks, Dr. Nikolav."

 _"_ _Always a pleasure, Elise! I look forward to your visit."_ He replies, then hangs up.

I glance at my phone and frown as I catch sight of the time again.

There won't be a visit if he doesn't come back.


	3. Home

Sorry about the absence, wrote a longer chapter than usual to make up for it. thank you all for your lovely reviews so far and for faving/following. I'm glad there's so much support for this fic. every time I get the email notification it drives me to write more, so thank you again! :) - strike

* * *

At breakfast, I don't ask him about yesterday's disappearance. I try to act as if it hadn't occurred. It's a difficult balancing act—talking just enough to make the situation feel normal, but not so much that it seems like I'm overcompensating. He's content to humour me with short responses, and occasionally his blue eyes leave his plate long enough to meet my gaze, but reading his emotions from his face is still a challenge.

I'd give anything to know what he's thinking when he looks at me.

I feel like I'm being annoying and clingy, but I can't help it. After the collapse of Shield, I was so afraid of being found by Hydra that I shut myself away and avoided interacting with people. It's been a long time since I've visited anyone or entertained guests, other than Sena's occasional drop-by visits.

Well, it's not like I had a huge friend-circle before, anyway. At least I had people to socialize with at Shield. There's no one left who experienced first-hand the utter hell that unfolded during that short time I spent in Pierce's lab.

There are days when I find myself thinking it never happened, and that I'd just imagined it all. Some kind of psychological mechanism to deal with the trauma, probably.

His presence grounds me back to reality, and it's oddly reassuring.

"Are you feeling alright?" He catches me off guard with the question.

"I'm fine. Sorry I talk so much." I smile, embarrassed.

He sets his fork down, studies me for a minute.

"You want to ask something." He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes locked on my face. Am I that obvious?

"Actually, I was planning to visit Dr. Nikolav today… you remember him, right? The Russian man you met at my house last year." I pick up our empty dishes and busy myself at the sink so he doesn't see my face as I try to figure out how to word my next question.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Well, looks like I don't have to ask after all.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." I glance at him over my shoulder as I turn on the tap.

"I don't mind." He shrugs, watching me contemplatively.

"Are you sure? I don't want to force you to spend time with me."

"I don't dislike it." He says it so simply, but damn, he doesn't know relieved I am to hear those words.

* * *

When we arrive at the Psychology Complex, we find Alma sitting in the lobby staring into space, despite the open textbook on the table in front of her. It's hard to believe the last time I saw her, I was on a mission to steal data for _Hydra_.

"Elise!" She almost falls while stumbling out of her chair. She's already embraced me with such vigour that she doesn't notice the man beside me, who has wisely stepped back to avoid the flailing limbs.

"Good God, girl, I thought you died in the Shield collapse. How could you just bail without telling us? And Dr. Nikolav didn't know anything about where you were or what happened to you. I was so worried!" She grips my arms as she scowls at me.

"I'm sorry Alma, it was a lot of stress to deal with and it took time to recover. I saw a lot of people die that day." I plaster an apologetic smile on my face as I try—and fail—to block the memories that now slip through the cracks of my conscience. The image of Chris lunging at me, and the feeling of my hand trembling before I pulled the trigger. It's so vivid.

Bucky clears his throat and the memories momentarily vanish.

Alma notices him for the first time and releases me.

Her eyes fill with excitement as she looks between us, and I cringe before the question even comes out of her mouth.

"Oh my god, is this your boyfriend? The one who gave you that cute necklace?" She beams at me, and I find myself wishing she didn't have such good memory.

"No, he's not my boyfriend. I… things didn't work out with that guy." I plaster a smile on my face.

The awkwardness of the situation is compounded by the fact that Bucky is likely aware of who she's talking about.

"Oh, that's too bad." She frowns. There's a momentary silence, and then her face lights up again as she quickly changes the conversation topic.

"So did you work at Shield with Elise?" She focuses her attention on Bucky, and he looks vaguely uncomfortable, but he nods.

"You guys should have brought Michael along! We haven't heard from him in forever, either." She frowns.

She really couldn't have brought up a worse topic.

I don't want to be the person to break the news to Alma that Michael isn't coming back, not when she was so fond of him. I only need to glance at Bucky's face to see that he's physically rooted to his spot, but mentally desperate to flee from this conversation. Does he think I'm about to tell Alma that he killed Michael?

Of course I wouldn't.

I open my mouth to speak, and that's when Dr. Nikolav exits the nearby administrative office with fantastic timing. He reads the tense situation immediately and leaps into action.

"Elise! James!" His over-exaggerated, enthusiastic greeting washes away the silence, and he smiles at us as he approaches, pretending to be ignorant of the awkward atmosphere that preceded his arrival.

"I'll be kidnapping these two, if you don't mind, Alma."

"But I didn't get to tell Elise about my study results!" She protests.

"She's not going to disappear, Alma. Don't you kids have cell phones and Facebook and such? Send her an email." Dr. Nikolav waves her concerns off with a lighthearted chuckle as he gestures for the two of us to follow him to the lab doors.

I give Alma an apologetic look, but Bucky seems relieved to be rid of her company.

Dr. Nikolav swipes his ID card and holds the security door open for us.

"Any secret data gathering missions I should know about this time?" He jokes, giving me a knowing wink.

"None. I've stayed clear of Hydra _and_ Shield, thank you very much." I frown.

"Good, that's the answer I wanted to hear." He smiles, then looks at Bucky. "How about a tour of the lab for our outsider friend? How have you been, James? Enjoying your freedom from Hydra, I hope?"

Bucky forces a faint smile but doesn't reply, and I note the way Dr. Nikolav's confidence momentarily falters as he attempts to interpret what the silent answer means. I see the furtive glance he shoots me and I know Bucky's Hydra-related activities will be a point of discussion between us in the near future.

Almost instantly though, he's back to his wide, jovial smile and is beckoning us forward as he begins an enthusiastic narration of his lab 'tour'. There's not much to see, of course. Still the same labyrinth of claustrophobia-inducing halls, walls lined with decades-old research posters; still the same tiny research rooms filled with computers from another era; still the same scattering of offices crammed with multiple desks and tired, overworked grad students.

Nothing has changed since I was last here, and it's comforting considering how much else _has_ changed in the outside world.

We hear laughter up ahead and Dr. Nikolav stops at an open lab door.

"Ah, and here we've got an experiment in progress!" He smiles, "Shall we observe?"

He leaves us little choice; he's already entered the room. Much to my discomfort, it turns out the experiment in progress is an EEG test, much like the ones we ran on Bucky in Pierce's lab. I steal a glance at him. His face is hard to read, but I follow his gaze and find him watching the students as they adjust the participant's electrode cap and joke with her about how long it'll take to get the gel out of her hair.

"Why don't you two come grab a coffee with me in my office, hmm?" Dr. Nikolav turns to me, "I think our little tour is pretty much complete."

I glance at Bucky wordlessly, and he nods his consent. As we leave the room, I trail back and fall into step with him. His eyes flicker around the hallways, passively studying everything he sees. He glances into every room, examines the facial expression of every person we pass.

I wish I knew what was going through his head.

We go up a flight of stairs and enter the faculty office hallway—wide, spacious, and decorated with large replica art prints, unlike the hallways below. Dr. Nikolav stops before his post-it-note clad door, fishing for his keys in his pockets.

"This certainly brings back memories." He smiles at me, then turns to Bucky, "Elise spent a lot of time crying in my office when her first publication came back from a journal with negative reviews."

"I did no such thing." I reply with mock indignation.

To my surprise, a smile tugs at Bucky's lips. He lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck and the sober, expressionless façade returns. It's like seeing a glimpse of the sun behind the clouds on an overcast day.

This small feat is an apparent victory for Dr. Nikolav, though. He pushes the door open with enthusiastic energy, ushering us inside.

"Come in, my friends. Have a seat, and I'll be back with the coffee." He disappears down the hallway as we settle into the chairs in front of his cluttered desk.

I watch as Bucky picks up a small crystal skull paperweight containing a tiny replica brain. It was actually a Christmas gift I gave to Dr. Nikolav a couple years ago, one that he evidently only uses for decoration.

"You worked here before you were at Shield?" He asks.

"Yeah, for about three years. Before that, I was a student here for four years." I watch him return the delicate object to the desk.

"So… those people, they're researchers too?" He fixes his blue eyes on me.

I nod.

"I didn't believe you when you said you were being nice to me because it was part of your job. I've never met researchers like you. Not until today." He replies, his gaze flickering away.

"Those Hydra guys… Sure, some of them are just bad people. But a lot of them are good people who do bad things because they're forced to by people like Pierce."

"…What am I?"

"You're not a bad person, Bucky." I add softly, "If you were a bad person, you would have let Hydra win."

"If I was a good person, I would have stopped them." He replies coldly.

"That's not true, it's not that simple. You can't blame yourself. I couldn't stop them either, none of us could. We can't do anything about it now." I frown.

A momentary silence passes.

"Why did you bring me here, Elise?" His voice is low, and I can't read the emotion in his tone. He doesn't meet my gaze.

I don't know how to respond. I hadn't really been planning for this trip to be a lesson on morality or a way to boost his self-esteem. I just thought it'd be a good break.

I open my mouth to fumble out a response when the professor returns with coffee, closing the door behind him.

The fact that he closed it completely isn't lost on me; Dr. Nikolav is the type to leave the door cracked open 98% of the time, even if he's talking to students—it's his way of making sure people know he's in his office.

Apparently this is more than a coffee break, and he doesn't want to be disturbed in the middle of an important discussion. If he's about to bring up something serious, though, he doesn't show it.

"Elise, do you mind moving all that junk?" He nods his head towards the stacks of paperwork taking up much of the deskspace.

" _Junk_? Aren't these the grant applications you're writing?" I place them gingerly to one side.

"In their current state, they're junk." He chuckles, "I may ask you to do me a favour at some point and do a little editing for me."

I grunt my disapproval, but he ignores me and puts the tray of mugs down before taking his seat across from us at the desk.

"Now, let me get straight to the chase." His gaze settles on me, "I know you quite well, Elise, and I have a feeling you've shut yourself away in your house this past year. No job, yes?"

I frown as I pick up one of the coffee mugs, the distinctively bitter smell reminding me that I can barely tolerate the vile stuff.

"Shield paid me pretty well, so I've been keeping low and living off savings." I reply cautiously, unsure of where he intends to go with this conversation.

"Shield is gone. Hydra is gone."

I open my mouth to say that isn't necessarily true, but he puts up a hand to silence me.

"Even if they aren't gone, they'll still find you if you're hiding. They probably already know where you are." He glances at Bucky briefly, and he glances at me in turn. I realize I didn't tell him about the conversation I had on the phone yesterday.

"There's no point in hiding." Dr. Nikolav goes on, "So I'm trying to convince you to come back and work in the lab again."

"…As a research assistant?"

"For the meantime, yes, but ultimately as a post-doc student." He corrects me, "The application cycle is ending soon, as you know."

"I'm not guaranteed a post-doc position just because you want me here." I frown.

"Oh, I'm not concerned. You have a strong record, I'm sure you'll get in. It's true that the Shield-Hydra incident may raise some questions, but I'm sure we'll find a way to convince them." He gives a reassuring smile.

I look down at my steaming coffee.

I just… I don't know if I have the heart for research anymore. I may have only spent a short time in Alexander Pierce's lab, but it was enough time for various people to convince me my curiosity and desire to learn are bad things. Doesn't help that their words were reinforced with the threat of death.

I feel the heat of Bucky's gaze on me, and even without looking at him I know he's giving me that same contemplative look he wore when he asked me if I was going to see Rumlow at the hospital.

What does it mean, in this context? Is he encouraging me?

"I'll consider it." I mumble. The professor is right, I can't live off savings forever. Hydra already knows my whereabouts, so if I'm going to die at some point anyway, I'd rather not be living off instant noodles in the future.

"Excellent. Now..." Dr. Nikolav turns his wide smile on Bucky. "You're a fairly strong guy, aren't you? Our animal research lab deals with a lot of shipments of fish and equipment, and we could use an extra hand unloading the trucks. Part-time, flexible hours and such."

"You're offering me a job?" Bucky raises a vexed eyebrow, then his eyes fill with suspicion, "Why?"

"You're staying with Elise right now, aren't you?" Dr. Nikolav is careful to keep a non-judgemental expression, but Bucky's eyes immediately flicker my way.

"I'm sorry. I told him about your injury, I was really concerned. I swear I didn't know he was planning to do all this, though." I give a flustered apology, but he just frowns.

"Where have you been staying before that?" Dr. Nikolav pushes bluntly forward into territory I hadn't dared encroach on, and I'm worried that his questions are too invasive.

"Safehouses." Bucky picks up the coffee mug in front of him and takes a cautious sip.

"What? But Hydra and Shield know about those… what if they caught you off guard?" My brow furrows in concern.

"How do you think I got this injury?" I'll be damned if that's not a smirk and a sarcastic lilt in his voice.

"And Elise is renting an apartment from a friend, yes?" Dr. Nikolav nonchalantly opens a third packet of sugar and dumps it into his coffee.

I nod.

"Why don't the two of you rent an apartment? If Elise works as a post-doc and James helps us out in the lab as I mentioned, I'm sure you could manage between you. At least temporarily, the arrangement would be suitable for both of you." Dr. Nikolav seems pleased with the solution he's devised.

What he didn't mention—and perhaps the reason he suggested this arrangement—is that it's also a good way to have someone capable nearby in case Hydra comes after me at any point.

Damn, but this is an awkward thing to bring up. _Hey_ , _why don't you guys live alone together for the long-term, despite the fact that you're strangers and of the opposite sex?_

Dr. Nikolav downs his coffee like he's drinking a shot, and then places the mug down decisively on the desk as if the matter's been settled.

"I realize this isn't a decision that can be made on the spot. You two should probably talk it over. Whether you decide to go through with it is up to you, but let me know if you want to do it." He smiles, "I know a real estate agent who owes me a favour, I'm sure she'd be willing to help you out for free."

I eye him critically, trying to figure out what his motives are, but he avoids my gaze with a sneaky smile, picking up the stack of papers in front of him.

"Now, I think I've procrastinated enough today." He waves them at us, "I'll see you two around, perhaps."

Nice. Leave me to discuss this with Bucky, alone. No pressure.

As we leave Dr. Nikolav's office and close the door behind us, I finally get the chance to speak my mind.

"Look, I didn't set this up, I promise. You asked why I brought you here," I hold his gaze, "It really was just to visit Dr. Nikolav. I had no idea he wanted to discuss anything."

"I know." He starts walking, "I believe you."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told him without asking you first."

"He was right, though." He replies. I wait for him to elaborate on what exactly the professor was right about, but he doesn't. He doesn't say another word as we leave the psychology complex, or even as we're crossing campus.

I'm mulling over his words with such concentration that I don't see the rogue cyclist approaching on the sidewalk until it's almost too late—but by then Bucky has pushed me out of the way and taken the full brunt of the collision. In the ensuing chaos, there's the sound of bodies colliding with the pavement, mumbled cussing and metal clashing against metal.

"Oh god, are you okay?" I momentarily forget about the cyclist, my eyes drawn to the fact that Bucky is clenching his abdomen in the area he'd been stabbed in. He moves his hand, and I see the tinge of crimson that seeps through the fabric of his shirt.

Damn it! His wound must have reopened.

"Shit, are you bleeding bro?" The cyclist looks at him in alarm, and my anger immediately ramps up.

"Don't _bro_ him! Why _the hell_ are you riding your bike on the sidewalk, asshole?" I explode with rage, pointing at the bike lying in the gutter, its wheels still spinning. I help Bucky to his feet as the cyclist blurts out continuous apologies _and I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it_ s.

"Get the hell out of our way." I snap back, levelling a glare at him. He does as told, and I return my attention to Bucky only to find him chuckling at me.

"You don't have to get so angry for me." He's actually _smiling._

" _You_ don't have to get yourself killed for me." I frown. He must have a very morbid sense of humour if _this_ is the time he chooses to lighten up.

"I didn't think about it." He shrugs, wincing slightly at the pain the action induces. I look at the growing blood stain on his shirt and my lips twist into a frown.

"We need to get you home."

Not 'my place'. Home. I said it without thinking.

...Maybe because it feels more like one now.


	4. Fix

I concentrate on dabbing away the dried blood, and he inhales a breath, his muscles tensing up.

"About yesterday…"

I glance at him. His head is turned to the side, his gaze averted from my face.

"I just went for a walk to clear my head." He finishes, his Adam's apple moving as he swallows.

"You don't need to explain. We all need space sometimes. I was just worried about your wound." I frown, "What do you normally do when you get injured and there's no one to help?"

"I was trained in basic first aid, in case I wasn't able to get treatment immediately." He replies, wincing slightly as I apply the rubbing alcohol, "but it never came to that. they did everything for me."

Evidently, Hydra's been taking good care of their subject—or as they call him, their _asset_ —all these years. It sickens me to think that they treated him merely like a valuable weapon rather than a human being. There were many times when Rumlow talked about him like that: always like a dangerous animal, even though he was completely aware of _The Winter Soldier's_ true identity: A missing soldier. A good man. A friend of Steve Rogers—someone Rumlow _fought_ beside and (I assume) respected.

I don't think I'll ever understand how he rationalized the things he did and said.

I sure as hell didn't want to be thinking about him again. Up until now I've been able to ignore the memories, but the longer I'm around Bucky, the more they slip past my guard when I least expect them.

Well, that's the cost of spending time with someone who has shared experiences.

I wash my hands in the kitchen sink and run the suture needle under hot water before disinfecting it with rubbing alcohol. Then I return to my seat beside him at the breakfast bar.

"Yesterday when you said freedom feels the same, what did you mean?"

"Those people at Hydra…They worried about me too." He averts his gaze to his hands, "But it was different. They worried because they owned me. You worry because you care… About me. I didn't understand the difference yesterday. I was wrong."

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to remain focused on my task.

"You fell asleep on the couch waiting for me... But you never asked me where I went. You weren't angry." He frowns, shifting his weight on the barstool.

I feel my fingers trembling as I struggle to tie off the last stitch.

"You always ask me for permission, and no one's done that before. I don't remember much about my past but..." He trails off, pausing, "In all the years I remember, no one has ever been this kind to me. Even after I killed your friend. You have every reason to hate me."

I don't know why it happens, all I know is that I can't stop the tears once they come. I trim the suture thread and place the needle on the table, but by then my eyes are bleary and I can't hide my tears anymore. I bite my trembling lip and turn away from him as I feel the tide of grief ripple through me.

I haven't cried in a year. Not since that visit to the hospital.

After that day, I thought I was all cried out when it came to Shield, Hydra, and all the lives left in ruins because of their stupid agendas. Yet, somehow I still have tears left for this assassin with no recollection of his own life, and nothing to give me except his protection and a heartfelt thank you for showing him kindness.

Embarrassed at my pathetic breakdown, I try to fight back my tears. It doesn't help, and they surge forward, racing down my cheeks despite my efforts to compose myself.

He stands, turning me around gently, pulling me into his embrace, his left arm around my back, his right hand cupping the back of my head.

I dread that he might apologize again, but he doesn't. He seems to understand that I'm not crying because he killed Michael; I'm crying because everything about our being here in this kitchen is tragic.

So I cry silently against his right shoulder, remembering the last time a man offered me this courtesy.

It was Rumlow comforting me after Michael was killed. It was Rumlow who tried to paint Bucky as the dangerous one, even though the entire thing had been orchestrated by Pierce & Co.

I was duped by a man I thought I might grow to love. A man with such infectious charm that I rejected my gut instincts in order to see the good in him, even when it became clear that he wasn't as good as he pretended to be. I should have seen through it all, I should have done more to stop it. But deep down, I know there's probably no chance I could have made a difference at all, and _that_ realization hurts me the most.

He doesn't release me until I've made the first move to break away.

That's precisely when Sena announces her arrival, poking her head around the open backyard door.

"Elise, do you have a gardening trowel I could…" the end of her sentence fades as she takes in the scene.

I don't blame her for the extended length of time it takes her to formulate a response. There's a lot about this situation that's messed up.

There's Bucky in his shirtless, wounded state, his shoulder still wet from my tears, his hand still resting above the small of my back. There's me, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand in an effort not to get blood on my face.

"I owe you an explanation, so you might as well come in." I let out a shaky sigh as Sena picks her jaw up from the floor and steps into the house, closing the door behind her.

Bucky returns to his seat on the stool as I move to the sink to wash my hands and begin cleaning up.

Sena hovers silently beside me at the counter, her gaze alternating between the two of us.

Well, when you see a wounded man with a crying person, what do you assume about that man's character? Not good things. At least he looks less frightening than the night he arrived.

I glance back at Bucky and find him evaluating her openly.

"I know it looks bad. And yes, I was crying. But he didn't hurt me, I promise." I lay a hand on Sena's arm. "We were talking about Shield and I got overwhelmed when the memories came back. I broke down."

She eyes me critically, and I know she's trying to figure out if his presence is intimidating me.

"Okay, but why is he bleeding? What happened?" She glances at him.

I briefly consider lying to her about the injury, telling her he got attacked by a dog or something. But she deserves to know why she's harbouring a stranger under her roof.

Still, I look to Bucky for reassurance. He meets my gaze, looks at Sena, and then again at me.

"If you trust her, you can tell her." He says softly.

I feel my breath catch in my throat. It means a lot that he entrusts his secrets to me. It means he has faith in the people I trust, even if I gave up on trusting people long ago.

I look at Sena again.

"It's a stab wound. James is— _was_ an assassin for Shield before the collapse. He got into a scrap recently and that's why he sought me out to help him with his injury. He accidentally opened his wound today when he got hit by an idiot cyclist, so I'm patching it up again."

I note the look Bucky sends me when I mention Shield's name instead of Hydra's. I don't intend to embarrass him by divulging the entire story. And I don't want Sena to assume he's a bad guy based on what she heard about Hydra in the news after the incident last year.

I glance at her. Her face is pale, and she looks visibly shaken.

"There's one more thing, Sena." I turn off the tap, returning the first aid tools to their box. "I'll be moving in the next few days. I'm sorry its last minute, and I'll be sure to pay you next month's rent to make up for it. I just can't risk the possibility that Shield or Hydra's people might be after me. I don't want you caught in something because of me."

I look up at her. She has the back of one hand to her mouth.

"I don't need the rent, Elise. But are you sure you want to do this?" She asks, her voice a soft whisper.

I didn't consult Bucky on the decision to move because whether he comes with me or not, I'm moving. I've been so worried about him and myself that I'd forgotten about Sena and her safety.

"Will you be safe? Can't the police protect you?"

"I can't go to the police." I frown, "The kind of people in this industry… they're skilled. The police aren't enough, even if they thought I was worth the time and effort."

Sena looks at Bucky's metal arm and the red star emblazoned on the shoulder. Where before she'd simply seen a shabby-looking stranger, she now sees a trained assassin.

"This is a lot to digest. I... I'm going to go lie down for a while, if you don't mind." She's already making her way out of the kitchen and heading to the door that joins our apartments.

I let her go, even though the new silence makes things doubly awkward.

"I'm sorry, I kind of made that decision at the last minute." I sigh, gazing up at the overhanging lights.

"You always think of other people." He picks up a clean paper towel and soaks it in rubbing alcohol, wiping down his scar with a stifled wince.

"I didn't think about your well-being when I cried all those tears into your cuts." I joke, turning on the tap again. God, I must look like an utter mess right now.

"Literal salt in my wounds." He tosses the paper towel into the trash, and I see the hint of a smile on his lips.

It's already rare for him to talk this much in one day, but telling a joke? He's trying awfully hard to cheer me up.

"Given your skill set, I'm surprised you found the time to learn how to comfort a crying person." I run my hands under the water and rub them over my face.

There's a long silence, and I wonder if I've breached an uncomfortable topic for him. I'm about to apologize when he finally speaks.

"Russia, in the 1980s." His gaze is fixed on the counter-top, "There was a little girl… Her father jumped in front of my target. She was the only one left alive and She... she grabbed my hand when I tried to leave. I don't know why. She didn't seem to resent me."

"You remember that?" I ask softly, leaning against the kitchen counter.

He nods.

"I'm starting to remember some things." He runs his fingers through his hair, then pauses. "When you started crying, I saw her face."

I watch him silently for a minute, and his blue eyes meet my gaze.

"Elise, about your professor's suggestion…" He pauses again, his lips twisting into a frown as he thinks about how to word his thoughts.

"I want to protect you." His tone is resolute. It's not a question, not even a request. I think it may be the first time he's ever mentioned he _wanted_ anything.

It's a good sign. He's breaking out of the obedient servant mentality Hydra pushed on him.

"Only if you promise not to get yourself killed. I don't want to lose a friend." I smile, "And Dr. Nikolav would be incredibly upset. I'm sure he's looking forward to seeing you around."

He holds my gaze for a second, then glances away.

"You should go check on your friend." He stands from his seat, and I notice the faded scars on his back as he leaves the kitchen.

I hope he knows I meant it when I said I don't want him getting killed for my sake.

* * *

I find Sena sitting at her easel, her attention focused on the painting in front of her. It's a watercolour view of a lush green mountainside, dotted with tiny forms that look vaguely like sheep.

"You could have told me, Elise. About what happened at Shield." She doesn't look at me, and her voice is calm.

I cross the room and sit on the window bench, taking in the sight of her face. She _looks_ normal. I don't see any sign of the shock she'd shown earlier.

"It's a lot of trauma, and it all happened so fast… I saw people die, right in front of me. I was part of something that… I don't think I'll ever be able to get away from." I answer quietly, "I was recruited by _Hydra_ and I didn't even know it. I was dating a high-level Hydra agent, and I didn't even know it. How could I have been so stupid, Sena?"

"I'm sure it wasn't your fault. Everyone was fooled, weren't they? Hydra wouldn't have survived for so long if they weren't good at hiding who they were." She puts down her palette, getting up to join me on the bench.

"I was so scared they might come after me." I whisper, "And at first when you said I had a visitor, I thought it might have been my… my ex. But it wasn't him, and I was so relieved to see James that I didn't consider your feelings or safety. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. He clearly means a lot to you, Elise." She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"They tortured him, Sena. I knew, and I couldn't do anything. They told me he was dangerous to keep me away so I wouldn't find out anything about him. I removed his tracking chip… didn't see him for a year after the collapse of Shield. He said he's been getting rid of the Hydra people tracking me." I pause, letting out a shaky breath.

She gives me time to compose my words.

"He said I'm the only one who's shown him any kindness in years." I hear my voice tremble, and I stop speaking. I know I'll end up crying again if I go on.

"I could see it in the way he looks at you." She smiles, "You mean a lot to him, too."

"He thinks he owes me." I shake my head, "But I don't want him to feel indebted. He insists he's going to protect me."

"Well, I don't know anything about evaluating an assassin's skills, but judging by his ab muscles and that arm, I think you'll be in good hands." She teases, "Though he might scare potential boyfriends away."

"No need to worry about that. I don't see myself dating anyone for a long time." I force a smile, but the pain still tugs at my heart.

"That's ridiculous. It's been an entire year, Elise." Her voice leaks disapproval, "You have to get over the Hydra jerk and move on. That's the only way to recover."

When I don't reply, she leans in close.

"At least consider your new guardian as an option." She giggles.

I shoot her a surprised glance, just to make sure she actually uttered those words to me.

"There's a stranger under your roof—whom yesterday you declared to be 'unstable' looking—and now you're encouraging me to _date_ him?" I raise a vexed eyebrow at her.

"Look, I shouldn't have judged him so harshly. He looks much better now. And maybe you don't notice, but he clearly sees more in you than just a debt to be repaid. At the very least, he cares about you as a friend. You might as well consider it." She shrugs, a hopeful smile on her face.

Consider it? I got into the _last_ mess by falling too deeply for someone because of physical attraction.

"He's not… emotionally secure, Sena." I look down at my hands, "and I'm not sure I am either."

"Well there you go. You can fix each other." She slaps me on the back.

 _Fix_ , she says, as if it were a broken vase you could glue back together. Some things aren't so easy to repair.


	5. Let's Go

Not gonna lie, this chapter gave me hell. I can't even count the number of times I've rewritten it. At this point I'm tired of delaying the update and even more tired of looking at the same words over and over, so here it is. This one might get rewritten at some point, but no more lengthy delays for chapters from now on, promise. Also, feel free to nag me about updates! I need all the pressure I can get. - strike

* * *

When Dr. Nikolav said he knew a realtor who owed him a favour, I hadn't expected it to be someone quite like this. From her perfectly styled blonde hair to her manicured nails and Louboutin pumps, Ms. Irina Lewis looks like the kind of person who works for very rich, very niche clientele—not the kind of realtor I can afford.

Makes me wonder how she's acquainted with my former professor… academics and realtors don't exactly occupy the same social circles.

This is the third place she's shown us, and I've written it off almost as soon as we walked through the door on account of the thin walls and sounds of people arguing in the other apartments. A shame… because it's dirt cheap compared to the other places we've seen.

It's not until I feel Bucky's piercing stare that I realize a question has been asked and I'm supposed to answer.

"Oh. Sorry, Irina. I was just… Thinking about the logistics of moving everything with that tiny elevator. Please, go on." I plaster an apologetic smile on my face.

"Well, you told me that you didn't mind whether it was an apartment or a house, but now that we've seen a couple places, I just wanted to see if you've developed any preference." She smiles back, and a pretty dimple appears on her cheek.

Did she date Nikolav in the past, maybe?

"It's not that I don't have a preference, per se. A house would be nice, but trying to rent a full one near the university would probably be impossible. And we uh… can't do roommates." I frown.

This statement has evidently piqued her curiosity, because her gaze flits between us like she's trying to figure out what we are. Dating? Friends? Really anti-social acquaintances? I'm amused to see her eyes stray towards my hand in search of a ring, only to find it bare.

She gives up rather quickly and returns to the topic at hand.

"What about you? Any preferences?" She looks at Bucky.

"Whatever she wants." He avoids her gaze, focussing his attention on the hardwood floor. He was talking so much yesterday that his return to silence is a little bit jarring.

"As long it has two bedrooms, and one and a half or two bathrooms, it's fine with me." I shrug. Irina laughs.

"I've certainly dealt with much pickier clients… Anyway, I do have one place in mind that might suit you two. It's a little bit quirky though." She purses her lips, turns suddenly and walks back to the entrance of the apartment.

I feel a pull on my sleeve as I turn to follow her.

"You okay?" Bucky angles his head slightly as he evaluates me.

"Fine." I reply with a faint smile, "Distracted, is all."

He holds my gaze a moment too long, and I get the feeling he wants to question further. He doesn't, and we're on our way again, back in Irina's massive SUV as she merges onto the congested street.

"You guys are awfully lenient about all this. I hope Vitaly hasn't coerced you into using my services." She adjusts her rear-view mirror while we idle at a red light.

"Oh, no." I shake my head, "He said you owe him a favour, actually. I hope we're not imposing on you."

"Nonsense." She laughs, "He's letting me off easy, considering what I owe him. It was my turn to take our mother out to dinner last month, but I had a last minute client appointment so he took her out instead."

I must have looked surprised to hear the words "our mother", because she laughs again.

"Yes, we may not look related, but Vitaly is my older brother."

Before I have a chance to mention my surprise at this revelation, she turns her pretty grey eyes upon me.

"Enough about me. How are you two acquainted?"

She finally got her opportunity to ask, and I'm so amused that I can't help but smile.

"Friends. Through work." I reply, thankful that she worded the question so tactfully.

"Ahh. I have to say I was very curious. My brother never mentioned it." She returns her eyes to the road as we take a left turn. I dread that she might bring up more personal questions—where did you meet? how long have you known each other?—but she doesn't.

We've entered the tiny shopping district a few blocks away from the university, its quiet street lined with two-story European-style apartments with storefronts.

Irina parks the car in a short alley between two shops, and I find myself confused as she takes us to the front steps of one of the buildings.

The pristine-kept porch and white outer façade are lovely, but there's no sign in the window indicating what kind of business it might be—just plantation style shutters.

"Is there an apartment above this shop?" I ask, looking up at the second-floor windows.

"It's actually not a shop." She smiles as she unlocks the front door, "This area used to be residential, and the owners refused to sell their house back when a developer bought out the other buildings and had them re-zoned for commercial use. Now that the owners are looking to buy a home overseas, they're attempting to rent this one out for the year, and then they'll be selling it."

I'm slightly pessimistic about my ability to rent a whole house, especially one that has such a decent location. Still, it's worth a look I suppose.

The front door opens into a very white, very Scandinavian open-concept living space leading into a small kitchen in the rear of the house. It's tinier than other places I've stayed, but there's a lot of natural light and the space itself feels airy.

No room for a dining table set, but it's not like I throw dinner parties anyway. The bar stool-type chairs at the kitchen island are sufficient.

"Did I mention that it comes fully furnished? And the furniture is brand new. Of course, if you decide to buy the house at the end of the year, you can keep it." Irina watches me expectantly, and I know she hopes to see some kind of excitement.

It all sounds very lovely, but with a research assistant salary and only a small percentage of savings I can put on a mortgage deposit, I doubt home ownership will be on my horizon in one year.

Besides, I don't know how long Bucky plans to stick around, and I don't want to tie myself down to a specific place in the meanwhile.

"Don't say anything." Irina latches on to my hesitance, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "Just look at the house first."

So we do.

Irina makes a great show of taking us down to the basement; apparently the former owner managed to salvage an old bank vault door and had repurposed it for the basement door.

I was expecting a family room, but instead we find a mini gym, complete with a set of weights, chin-up bar, and a punching bag suspended from the ceiling. I'm not sure I'd have any use for this stuff, but a quick glance at Irina's face suggests that she seems to have targeted this portion of the house at Bucky.

"Great, isn't it? _You_ certainly look like the type of person who would make use of this." She studies him with a smile. Predictably, he doesn't respond. I hope she doesn't take his silence personally.

Lastly, we head up to the second floor, which is arguably the only problematic area of the house. There's only one bathroom, though at least it's separate from either bedroom.

What's not separate are the bedrooms themselves. In some kind of bizarre architectural decision, the two rooms are connected by a walk-in closet.

"As I said, the house is a little quirky." Irina shrugs, a hopeful smile on her face. "It was originally one bedroom plus an office, hence the closet connection."

"Okay, so putting that weirdness aside, how much is it going to cost?" I brace myself for the answer.

"The rent will be about 2,500 a month. As I mentioned though, the house will be going up for sale at the end of the year, so you may want to consider making an offer then if you like it."

I mull over the information carefully. Handing over a two month rent deposit will be an expensive pain, let alone _buying_ the actual house.

"I want both of you to think about it." Irina smiles, glancing between us, "The area's pretty quiet for a hip neighbourhood—you can go out on the town, walk to the university… It's a hot property."

She's right, of course.

It's hot, but my wallet will be hotter once that rent fee burns a hole in it.

* * *

I put the pencil down and rub my face, trying to make sense of the numbers swimming on the page. I've been at it ever since we got back—or rather, _I_ got back. Bucky insisted on going for a walk immediately after we left Irina's office. That was this morning. It's now evening, and he still hasn't returned.

It's not like I don't have other concerns to keep me occupied, though. Rent, bills, moving costs. It's not cheap. I might have to turn down Dr. Nikolav's research assistant job offer and find a better paying position elsewhere… maybe outside of academia.

I pick up my cell phone and punch his number in. Maybe he'll have some advice to offer—and I should thank him for introducing me to his sister.

When he finally picks up, he sounds as over-caffeinated and jumpy as the night before a major deadline.

"Hey Dr. Nikolav, sorry if I caught you at the wrong time… You sound exhausted. Are you alright?"

 _"_ _No, no, I'm fine. I was just about to call you, actually."_

"…Why?" I draw the question out hesitantly. He sounds far too relieved to hear my voice, and a niggling worry eats away at my conscience. _Please_ don't tell me something terrible happened.

 _"_ _I know things might be hard for you, returning to a research lab after… Shield. I saw that you weren't quite comfortable with the idea of being an RA, and I don't want to push you into something you don't want to do."_

He interrupts me before I can respond.

 _"_ _We're actually in quite a tight spot at the moment in the department though—Dr. Singh went into early labour yesterday night."_

"Dr. Singh? Is she okay?" I frown. I didn't run into her on our visit yesterday… nobody told me she was pregnant. I would have expected Alma to mention something at least.

 _"_ _Her son is 2 months premature, but they're both doing well. The problem is that she's only partway through the summer introductory psychology course she was teaching, and we desperately need a fill-in."_

"That's unfortunate." In the silence that follows I realize exactly why he called.

"Wait—you're not calling to ask me—"

" _I am. It would be a great help. You're Dr. Singh's first choice, Elise. She said you did well as a teaching assistant in her courses, and you know all of her material."_

I glance down at the notepad in front of me. An adjunct professor's salary will make things a little easier, even if it's only a temporary gig. Better than a research assistant's pay.

"Okay. I'll do it."

" _Fantastic! Your first class is Monday night, by the way. I'll have the office sort everything out over the weekend, check your email until then. I've got to go now, my wife will murder me if I don't get home soon."_

"Alright. Thanks, Dr. Nikolav." I hang up just as the backyard door opens, and Bucky enters carrying a black briefcase.

He crosses the floor, places it on the counter in front of me, then moves to the kitchen sink. I put my pencil down, my brows furrowed in confusion as I watch him fill a glass of water.

His eyes remain fixed on me as he empties the glass, then places it quietly in the sink, leaning back against the edge of the counter.

"Open the case." He nods towards the leather briefcase.

Getting major deja-vu vibes from all those shady drug-deal/mafia scenes from tv.

I oblige with some uncertainty, unzipping the main compartment to find stacks of hundred dollar bills.

"It's $50,000." Bucky replies, answering my unspoken question. It only serves to spawn about ten more in my mind, two of which take precedence.

"Okay, but why? And where did you get it?"

"Payment for mercenary jobs." He runs his fingers through his hair, "And money stolen from Hydra. Anyway, I want you to have it."

"I can't—"

"What are you going to say, that you can't take anything from me because I don't owe you? Or that it's dirty money and that's why you can't take it?" He steps forward so that he's now standing directly across from me at the breakfast bar, his eyes locked on mine.

I open my mouth to respond, think better of it, and shut it again.

"I do owe you, you can't deny it." He continues, his tone gentler, "And so does Hydra. They can't even begin to repay the debt they owe to all the people they've hurt."

I don't have the nerve to argue with him on that point. Of all the people Hydra owes, he's first and foremost. Still, I think he knows as well as I do that money isn't going to heal the wounds they opened. Only time can do that.

"I don't need it, though." I reply quietly, pushing the briefcase gently back towards him.

"But you do. I know you want that house." His eyes flicker towards the scratched out numbers on my notepad, and I feel helplessly out-argued. He's right. The adjunct professor position is only for the summer, and then I'll be back to square one. Might have to move again too.

"If you take the money, I'll consider my debt to you settled." He pushes the briefcase back towards me, "At least consider it payment in advance for rent, if you don't want to think about it like a repayment."

I raise a questioning eyebrow at this, and he briefly averts his gaze.

"You know that I can't legally work with this status. I'm off the grid, and I don't intend to go back… not yet. I don't mind helping your professor, but I can't be paid for it the normal way."

I resist the urge to sigh. There's no point in fighting this. Taking the money is the smart decision, even if it's embarrassing and slightly morally questionable.

"Still… fifty thousand for rent… that's overkill." I smile, "How long are we gonna be roommates?"

"For now." His blue eyes meet mine, and I find myself momentarily lost in them as Sena's words tumble into my brain. I really wish she hadn't planted those thoughts in my mind.

"There's one more thing… I need to collect some things from a safe house. Guns and ammunition, mostly." He doesn't seem to notice my moment of weakness.

Focus, Elise. Focus.

"How do you know they're still there? Didn't Hydra attack you?"

"They've been eliminated." He looks at me coolly, and an unsettling chill sweeps over me.

Relax. This is probably a pretty normal, nonchalant thing for him to report.

"Alright." I shrug, fighting to keep my tone casual, "When do you want to go?"

He falters for a second, as if he hadn't expected me to agree to his request.

"Now, ideally." He frowns, "I can't be sure that others haven't come to look for the ones I killed."

I push my stool back and grab my phone from the counter.

"Well, let's go then."


	6. Monsters

I idle the car in a dark alleyway between the two apartment buildings while Bucky unbuckles his seat-belt and pulls a handgun out of the duffel bag at his feet.

My eyes linger on the rear-view mirror as I contemplate the silent darkness beyond the trunk of my car. At the intersection of the four alleys that twist behind the apartment complexes, there's an open lot. It's dimly lit, but I can just make out a shipping container in one corner.

A somewhat unusual, but conspicuous, safe house.

This whole situation feels uncomfortably like a much more dangerous version of the mission I went on with Rumlow, except now it's _me_ who's going to be waiting it out in the car. A cloud of unease settles over me, and I convince myself that everything will be fine.

"Here." The sound of Bucky's voice startles me slightly, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look at the handgun he's holding out to me.

"I can't." I shake my head, my eyes never leaving the weapon.

"It's here if you need it." He places it on the dash, and I'm grateful he's not going to chide me or ask why I'm being such a wimp. Rumlow would have.

"This won't take long." He lifts his hood over his head, reaching for the door handle.

He's gone before I can say anything, the car door closing behind him as he disappears into the shadows. I unlock the trunk, lean back in my seat, and wait.

For a long time, I don't hear anything. It's faint at first, but there soon comes the sound of shouting, followed by sounds I can't identify. Things breaking, maybe? Silence again. Running footsteps. I grab the gun from the dash and sink back into my seat, trying to hide as best as I can.

The footsteps get closer, and I know they've seen the car. My heart is racing a mile a minute as I hold my breath, praying that Bucky will find and deal with the threat before I have to do anything.

Hands shaking, I point the gun at the window, thinking at least I can be proactive about defending myself.

I catch sight of the unfamiliar stranger's face. The last thing I see is the terror that fills his expression as he glances back, then he's reeling backwards, his body crumpling as the bullet tears through his chest.

I catch a glimpse of Bucky in the driver's side mirror before he disappears back into the darkness, but I don't get a look at his face.

I wonder what kind of expression he makes when he's taking out a target; what do his victims see in their last moments, so terrified that the horror is etched onto their faces?

I try not to dwell on the thought, and also try to restrain myself from peeking at the dead man lying just inches from my driver's side door. Instead, I while away the silent minutes mentally chiding Bucky on how long he's taking to get this over with. Sure, he used a suppressor on his gun, but the Hydra goons could have alerted their higher-ups of the attack if they saw him coming.

He makes a total of four trips back with boxes, duffel bags, and what I assume are rifle cases. I wish I'd known just how much weaponry he'd intended to retrieve; I might have been able to convince him to take less. What does he need it all for, anyway? He's not equipping an army.

When he finally closes the trunk lid and returns to the passenger side seat, I find that I can barely meet his gaze. He pauses as he glances at my sweating, clammy hands, and I realize I'm still holding the gun.

He extends an expectant hand to me, his fingers brushing against mine as I pass the weapon into his grip.

"You never took the safety off." He comments quietly, returning it to the duffel bag.

"I uh… guess I should be grateful I didn't have to use it, then." I offer a stupid smile, fumbling to turn my keys in the ignition.

I'm too preoccupied trying to drive with shot nerves to be bothered by the fact that he's noticed how shaken up I am.

But after we return to the house and the things have been moved inside, I make an excuse about wanting to go to sleep early, and it's impossible to miss the visible disdain on his face. I pretend not to notice and begin to walk away when he calls after me, his tone dripping with impatience.

I freeze, turning to meet his gaze from across the room.

"Don't hate me."

The request is so blunt, so sudden, that I'm taken aback.

"I don't… why would you think I'd hate you?" I frown.

"I'm an assassin. Killing without thinking, without feeling, it's my job. It's all I know how to do. You know that." He levels a piercing stare at me, and I look away, switching my focus to the boxes of ammunition sitting on the coffee table.

I hear his light footsteps on the hardwood as he crosses the floor.

"I shouldn't have asked you to come, I'm sorry." He's speaking quietly now, "I don't want you to see that side of me anymore."

I glance down at his scuffed combat boots, then shift my gaze to his metal hand, still unable to look him in the eyes.

I'm afraid of what he might see in mine.

"You don't have to be an assassin, Bucky. It's _your_ life now, not Hydra's, and you can do what you want with it." I reply, stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is skeptical, his mouth curving into a frown.

"As long as Hydra is out there, it's not my life. It's not yours, either. They'll never stop looking for you if it means they can find me."

"Is that _all_ you're doing? Getting rid of the ones hunting me?" I finally manage to hold his gaze, challenging him to lie to me.

"That's all. I promise." He frown deepens, "I have nothing to hide from you. And I… I would never hurt you. I understand if… you think I'm a monster."

There's an air of resignation in that last sentence. And a little disappointment. His brown hair falls across his face as he glances at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. The other is jammed into the pocket of his jeans.

"I've met a monster." I reply, "You're nothing like him."

He reads the pain in my eyes, and a multitude of unspoken questions linger in the silence between us. Finally, he opens his mouth to speak… but he doesn't have a response, and I don't give him the time to think of one.

"Good night, Bucky." I cut him off with a faint smile, and turn to leave.

He doesn't try to stop me.


	7. Ty milaya

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's avoiding me.

Given that the new house came with furniture, and since Sena was chill about keeping my old stuff, moving the remaining things over didn't take too long. And though Bucky helped with the move, he vanished once handed the other pair of keys. I'm not even sure if he ever came back over the weekend to sleep.

I've tried not to dwell on it; he probably has things to do… as do I, now that this teaching position has been thrust on me.

It's Monday night now, and I've all but forgotten about him as I go over my last few slides on exemplar theory.

It starts with a rustle of paper, and before I know it, the itch is spreading like waves throughout the lecture hall: the sound of laptops closing, books shoved haphazardly into backpacks, zippers slowly done up in anticipation.

I glance up at the wall-mounted clock as I continue talking, but I know it's already too late. There are only five minutes left of the class, and it's pretty clear that no one's paying attention to a single word I'm saying.

"I have two more slides…"

There's an audible groan, and I watch the hope drain from the faces of the students in the first few rows.

"Well, why don't we leave them for Wednesday?" I feign a sigh, but a smile breaks out on my face when I hear the quiet murmurs of relief and gratitude. Poor kids. I sympathize with them. I was the same, not too long ago. Three-hour evening lectures suck.

The noise picks up while I log out of the computer, as the students put their things away and discuss their plans for the rest of the evening. A few enthusiastic souls meander down the steps to ask me questions about the material, and I humour them with my remaining energy.

Said energy doesn't last long though; there are still two students in line when the clock reads 9:10, and I really, really want to go home.

"Listen, why don't you guys come to my office hours tomorrow? You can ask me whatever you want for the whole two hours." I smile at them, hoping they'll have mercy when they read the suffering in my eyes.

Relenting, they're about to leave when one of them hesitates.

"Do you need a walk to the parking lot, Ms. Summers? It's pretty dark out." He offers me a hopeful smile.

"No, I'll be—"

I pause mid-sentence as I notice the lone figure sitting in an aisle seat near the top of the lecture hall stairs.

Takes me a second to recognize that it's Bucky. He's dressed in the same gear he wore as an assassin for Hydra: the leather jacket, body armour and cargo pants. Quite a departure from the American Eagle button-downs and jeans the other students are wearing.

"I'll be fine." I finish my reply, giving Bucky a small wave. He stands, making his way down the steps.

The students bid me goodnight as they leave, their gazes lingering briefly on the man in black as they pass him. Would it be rude if I asked him to dress a little less... conspicuously... on campus?

Well, I can't complain too much. It's nice to see his face again, despite how stupid that sounds. It's only been like three days.

"How did you know where I'd be?" I pick up my bag as I head towards the side exit.

"I visited Dr. Nikolav this afternoon to talk about the job. He told me."

"Did he tell you to walk me home?" I push the door open, stepping outside.

"No. I wanted to see you teach." When he meets my gaze, his blue eyes boring into me, I feel like my heart has stopped. There's a silence, and we're both momentarily grounded outside the doorway. A light evening breeze flutters across my face, carrying with it the sounds of student voices and laughter.

"Well, I'm really glad you came." I smile.

"I thought you'd be mad." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Why? You're always welcome. I won't tell anyone."

He doesn't say anything, and after a few minutes I steal a glance at him. His hands are in his pockets, his eyes focused on the ground ahead of him. I don't mind the silence, but I can't help the feeling that there's some tension sitting on his shoulders.

We're about 5 minutes from the house when he finally speaks again.

"Actually, Elise, I was wondering if you could help me with a project." He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his brown locks off of his forehead.

"What kind of project?"

Considering the last favour he asked for involved guns and dead people… Hesitance is justifiable, right?

"Dr. Nikolav… asked me to help translate some things for him. He said he doesn't have time to translate them himself." He pulls some folded papers out of his jacket and hands them to me.

I pause under a streetlight as I try to make out the writing. Looks like a standard journal article, but the language isn't English.

"Isn't this… Russian?" I raise a vexed eyebrow at him, "I don't know any Russian, Bucky. If I did, Nikolav would've asked me."

"It's not the Russian part I need your help with. It's the brain part. I need an explanation of the concepts." He replies. I take a few seconds to process that statement before the obvious revelation hits me.

"Wait, you know _Russian_?"

If my eyebrows could fly cartoonishly off my face, I'm pretty sure they would have done that.

"And German, French… Why are you surprised?" There's a smirk on his face as he begins to walk ahead, leaving me standing at the streetlight, mouth agape like a fool. I speed up to catch up to him, but we've already reached the house door anyway.

"I thought you didn't… I mean, that you weren't—"

"Educated?" He raises an eyebrow at me, a sober expression on his face.

"No, I didn't… I wasn't—It's just that…" I eventually clamp my mouth shut to stop the stammering, feeling the heat rise to my ears.

An amused smile pulls at his lips. I can't help but feel like he's mocking me, and that makes the embarrassment ten times worse.

"Ty milaya."

"What does that mean?" I busy myself with finding the right key on my lanyard, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

"Help me with that job and maybe I'll teach you."

Well, I'm glad he's back to the friendly banter at least. I was beginning to think he disliked me after his post-move disappearance.

"Fine. But one-on-one tutoring isn't my strength." I frown, pushing the door open.

"I'm sure you'll be fine." He turns and steps back onto the sidewalk.

Oh. He's planning to disappear tonight too.

"You're leaving?"

"I have someone to visit."

His smile is fainter now, and it suggests the 'visit' is not a friendly one.

"Alright… stay safe." I step into the house. By the time I've turned around to close the door, he's gone. It's like he was never there at all.

It's not until I've kicked my shoes off and settled on the couch that I realize… I never asked how Dr. Nikolav knew Bucky could speak Russian in the first place.

Looks like there's a conversation I need to have with that resourceful supervisor of mine.


	8. Favourite Person

**Author's Note: When I said you can nag me for chapter updates, I really meant "please guys, nag at me for updates!" I really need the motivation! Good news: next chapter is also done, I'll be uploading it tomorrow or the day after. Thanks for being so patient with me and hanging in there for so long! - strike**

* * *

I find Dr. Nikolav at his desk, his nose buried in a science fiction novel. He glances up with a smile when he notices my presence, gesturing for me to come in.

"I was wondering if you could tell me what _Ty Milaya_ means in Russian." I seat myself in one of the empty chairs in front of his desk.

"That's an unusual translation request…" The smile disappears, replaced by a vexed frown.

"Why? What does it mean?"

"It means 'you are cute', essentially." He bookmarks his page in the book and sets it aside, clasping his hands together in front of him.

That can't be right. I'm sure Bucky was just mocking me—it didn't seem like a compliment.

"…There are no alternate meanings?" I tone down my surprise, but my brain is frantically recreating last night's conversation in an effort to figure out if I misheard something.

It's safe to say that Dr. Nikolav's curiosity has been piqued, based on the way he's now observing me.

"That's the direct translation. Did a student say it to you? Are you being sexually harassed?"

As touched as I am by his well-meaning concern, I'm not about to tell him that Bucky said it. Even just the mention of his name right now would betray how I feel about him.

With Rumlow, well… He was bold, risqué even. Confident in his seductive skills, that's for sure. Yes, it was charming. But somehow this simple compliment I wasn't meant to understand … It feels more thrilling.

I feel like a middle school girl again.

Ridiculous, right?

"I'm not being sexually harassed, I promise." I give Dr. Nikolav a reassuring smile. After a moment of scrutiny, he accepts my claim and returns his attention to the book in front of him.

"Why didn't you ask James? He's fluent in Russian, you know."

I'm slightly worried that he's figured out the source of the compliment, but the disinterested tone of his voice suggests otherwise.

"He knows Russian?" I feign surprise anyway, just in case. Nikolav raises a bushy eyebrow at me.

"You worked with him at Shield… You _live_ with him, and you didn't know?" He casts me a slightly incredulous, slightly skeptical look.

I shrug.

To be fair, we've only lived together for a week, and that's if you count the amount of time he spent out.

"He's kind of distant, if you haven't noticed." I frown, "There's a lot I don't know about him."

"But you'd like to."

I give a small nod.

"I'm sure he'll open up to you in time. He thinks very highly of you." He waves my concern off as he leans back in his chair, "I asked him to help me with some translation work for my next meta-analysis. I can't help thinking he accepted it only because I'm your supervisor."

"How did you know he speaks Russian?"

"You know me, I have a habit of cursing in my mother tongue sometimes." A wide grin appears on his face, "I spilled my coffee when he was here, used some colourful language, and he chuckled! So I asked him about it."

"There's a lot more to him than he lets on."

It often seems like Bucky's closer to understanding me than I am to understanding him.

"That's a given, considering what he's been through." Dr. Nikolav's smile briefly disappears, "but whether this education came from his Hydra training or not, it's good for him to have a productive way to make use of it now."

That's a good point, I guess.

"Sounds like you feel guilty about having him do your manual labour." I tease, standing to leave.

"He'll get a mention as an author on the published paper, isn't that a great honor?" He shrugs, offering a sheepish smile.

"That doesn't mean anything to anyone except scientists." I raise a skeptical eyebrow, and he just laughs.

"Well, in my defense, he'll spend less time in the animal behaviour labs and your house will smell less like fish when he comes home. Happy wife, happy life."

"Except for the part where we're roommates, not married." I correct him, a smile tugging at my lips.

"Why not? You just moved in alone with a single man—he is single, isn't he?—you're basically newly-weds." He shrugs, "…at that first stage of marriage where he's still calling you cute."

There's a mischievous glint in his eyes, and there's no doubt about it. He knows.

I scramble for some kind of explanation, but he doesn't give me time to think of one.

"One more thing, Elise." He picks up his book again. "Your favourite person is in town."

I give him a questioning look, and he doesn't even try to hide the coy smile on his face.

"The esteemed Riley West, of course." Dr. Nikolav confirms my suspicions, "He's in DC to attend a conference. I asked him to present this Friday's guest lecture… He made a point of asking me if you'd attend."

 _That's_ unusual. I haven't heard from the man in years.

When I was in undergrad, he was a very popular teaching assistant in some of my courses—my favourite teaching assistant, actually... partly because I crushed on him. His insufferably over-achieving personality gave me something of an inferiority complex though.

Last I heard, he'd been granted a full-tenured teaching position at Cambridge at the ridiculously young age of 30, and half of his colleagues hated him for it. Wouldn't be the first time he was unpopular for being so damn brilliant. Handsome, and brilliant.

"Sure, I'll go." I shrug. I'm curious about why he's taken such great pains to meet me. Might as well see what he wants.


	9. Tables

_Thank you for the reviews! I see a couple questions about whether Rumlow will appear. He will, don't worry :) - strike_

* * *

Whether Bucky thinks I'm cute or not, there are certainly a lot of people who find _him_ easy on the eyes.

You just have to spend a few minutes in the lobby to overhear students talking in hushed tones about the "hot guy with the metal hand". I'm not sure how word got around, but by the middle of the week he seems to be a talking point in the department.

I'd ask him about it… if I could get a single minute with him. He's kept his usual habit of avoiding the house when I'm there.

The attention follows him to class—even when he's deliberately tried to sit in the farthest corner of the lecture hall. I glance up more than once during the mid-lecture break to find students trying to pull him into a conversation, and it brings a smile to my face. He looks mildly uncomfortable, but there's nothing I can do. He'll just have to hope everyone loses interest fairly soon.

As the usual buzz of chatter fills the room at the end of class, I'm packing up my things when I hear footsteps approaching the podium.

Expecting a student, I glance up only to practically do a double-take at the man standing before me.

"Well done. The students near me were only falling _a little bit_ asleep." His lips twist into a smirk.

Damn, damn, damn.

When Dr. Nikolav said Riley was in town, he never warned me of the possibility that he might _sit in on one of my classes._ I scramble to retrace any mistakes I might've made, embarrassed that he saw me at my most candid state.

He looks different. I mean, that should be obvious… he was in his mid-twenties last time I saw him, and he must be at least 31 now. But his hair is a much darker shade of brown, and he's somehow more handsome than before.

I'm gawking, aren't I? I tear my gaze away, regaining my composure.

"You look surprised to see me." He raises one quizzical eyebrow.

"I didn't know what to expect after all this time." I shrug sheepishly, "You're looking… well."

"I'm glad to hear it." His eyes rake over me audaciously, "You're looking good, yourself."

Was Riley always this flirty?

"I'm not surprised that they asked you to fill in for Dr. Singh. You always showed a lot of potential when it came to teaching others." He chuckles.

I feel unusually self-conscious about the praise. The heat rises to my ears, and I shrug again, unable to find a verbal response that won't give away how flustered I am.

"Nothing to say? You're too modest for your own good." He props one elbow on the podium, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he watches me. All the warning bells are going off at once in my brain.

No, Elise, no. That crush is over. It ended the moment he left to study in the UK, when I didn't have the courage to tell him how I felt. I'm not about to reignite that flame.

"It's uh… it's great to see you again Riley, but is there something you need?" I glance at the clock. It's five past nine, and most of the students have left by now. Just a few stragglers remain… and Bucky.

Riley laughs, and it surprises me.

"Look, I understand. It's not the best time to have a chat. I thought it would be nice to drop in and see one of my favourite former-students teach." He offers a lopsided, apologetic smile, and my traitorous heart beats a little faster.

"You're here just for the nostalgia?" I smile back, despite myself.

Damn his flirty conversation style! It's so hard not to get sucked in.

"Also to see if Dr. Nikolav had a chance to invite you to my lecture this Friday." He adds, "I'd like a chance to speak to you about my work—and yours, if you have the time."

"Yeah, of course. I'll see if I can make it."

My eyes flicker briefly towards Bucky, and I find him making his way down the lecture hall stairs with a coil-bound notebook in hand.

Huh. He took notes.

"Fantastic. I look forward to it." Riley smiles, following my gaze. He casts me a furtive, questioning look as Bucky reaches the final step.

"This is James. He's a friend of mine and Dr. Nikolav's." I explain. There's a moment of silence as the two men evaluate each other.

"Riley West." Riley is the first to extend an expectant hand, "Any friend of Elise is a friend of mine."

Bucky shakes it, mumbling an obligatory _nice to meet you_ without offering any kind of formal introduction in return. His friendship isn't so easy to earn, of course.

If Riley was put off by that brusque introduction, he doesn't show it. He bids us a polite good night and exits the lecture hall, and I'm left alone with a silent, grumpy winter soldier.

He keeps his eyes down as we walk home, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, the notebook tucked under one of his arms. I've stayed quiet until now, thinking maybe he'd say something first… but if I don't say something soon, he's going to run off without ever telling me why he's so irritated.

"Did the students bother you?" I break the silence with the harmless question, but he just looks at me blankly before returning his gaze to the sidewalk.

"No."

If not that, then what?

"So… did you take notes?" I gesture to the notebook, "Anything you want clarified?"

"They're in Russian."

I frown, not because he anticipated I'd ask to see the notes, but because he's obviously annoyed about something. We're almost at the front door, and I'm running out of indirect options.

"Look—you're clearly angry. Did something happen? Did I do something?" I cut him off on the sidewalk, stepping in front of him to look him square in the eye.

He stares at me coolly, then looks away.

"It's stupid."

"It's not." I protest, "Tell me."

He hesitates, his jaw clenching.

"The things you do for me… would you do them for anyone?" He pauses, "For any man?"

I feel like time has momentarily stopped, the silence stretching into my mind as I struggle to find an answer. I suppose it was inevitable that he'd realize my growing feelings for him. I'm a scientist by trade, not an actress.

Still, I didn't expect this moment to come so soon… what brought it up?

"What do you think?" I deflect with a question.

He raises his gaze to meet mine, his eyes searching my face for an answer. When he doesn't reply for a long time, I can tell he's not satisfied with the way I evaded his question.

Well, I'm pretty sure that confessing to him would just make things 110% more complicated between us. I have to find some way to answer him though.

"No, I wouldn't. You're… special."

I watch his face expectantly, but there's no change in his sober expression—not even a twitch of the eyebrow.

"I don't know how to process that right now." He replies quietly, glancing away.

A long silence passes.

"You don't have to figure it out overnight." I shrug.

"I don't want to get in your way if there's someone you want to be with."

"There isn't anyone. Why would you think—" I suddenly remember how flirty Riley was back there. Wait, _that's_ what this is about? Is he... is he jealous?

"I'm not interested in Riley, Bucky."

"He's interested in you." He replies flatly.

"I'm sure he's just playing around." I assure him, "And anyway, he's just here until Friday's guest lecture. He'll be going back to England after that."

He still looks skeptical, but I'm not sure there's any way I can convince him short of simply confessing that I have feelings for him. I don't think he's prepared to hear that right now, anyway.

"Sorry." He frowns, "For being selfish, I mean."

"Honestly, I think it's cute." I smile, "Or… what was it… _Ty Milaya?_ "

His eyebrows arch ever so slightly, the surprise evident in his eyes.

My smile widens slowly into a grin. There goes his advantage. The tables have turned.

"You're not supposed to ask Dr. Nikolav. That's cheating." He murmurs, closing the distance between us as he steps forward. The cool scent of his aftershave overwhelms my senses, and I hold my breath, temporarily silenced by his proximity.

The anticipation of a kiss lingers in the air, and I wouldn't be able to break away from his piercing blue eyes, even if I wanted to.

My heart is racing a mile a minute as his face nears mine. He pauses, observing me contemplatively as a smirk tugs at one corner of his lips… then leaves me speechless on the porch with butterflies in my stomach and the notebook in my hands.

The tables have not turned.


	10. Suspicions

I didn't think Bucky would come to the Friday lecture, given how clear it is that he dislikes Riley. He was missing all day on Thursday as well, but that's not a surprise.

I consider the possibility that he's here for my sake, but he's not even sitting near me. He's seated a row below, in the seat beside the aisle. The angle allows me to observe him, and I find myself paying more attention to him during the lecture than to Riley's PowerPoint.

He's taking it all in with such intense concentration that I'm left wondering if he had a change of heart. Maybe he found the research interesting?

I make no effort to hide my perplexed state from Dr. Nikolav, and he brings it up while I'm pouring myself a glass of punch at the post-lecture mixer.

"Is something going on with James?" His eyes hone in on our mutual _friend_ across the room, currently being accosted by various women from the department. Their chatter and giggles carries over the general noise, and I frown.

"Why?" I turn to Dr. Nikolav, shutting out the other conversations.

"Yesterday he came into my office asking all kinds of questions about Riley's background, his history… I get the feeling he doesn't like the man very much." He takes a sip of his drink.

You wouldn't be wrong about that.

"I expect there are bigger problems between you two right now than Riley." He chuckles, "But I will have to keep my nose out of that. I've meddled enough with your relationship so far."

I'm just about to correct him when his gaze flickers elsewhere, interrupting my thought process.

As if on cue, Riley has emerged from the crowd, cutting his way across the lounge floor towards us, stopping occasionally to shake hands and accept praise for his lecture.

Nikolav's gaze follows him, and he lowers his voice to a volume only I can hear.

"One thing you may be curious to know: I discovered that Riley isn't registered at the DC Conference he told me he was attending. It's probably not important, but nevertheless… There it is."

Well, that doesn't make much sense. That would imply that Riley is lying about his spontaneous visit… That he _deliberately_ planned to come by and talk to me.

There's very little time to make sense of that revelation before Riley enters hearing range, so we cut our conversation short.

"Well, what did you think? Did I bore you to death?" He glances between us, a light-hearted grin on his face.

"Couldn't stay awake." Dr. Nikolav jokes.

I plaster a smile on my face, noting out of the corner of my eye that Bucky's attention has now shifted our way.

Of course.

"Fantastic work you're doing, Riley. I look forward to seeing what comes of it." I up the dazzle-factor on my smile, and Riley looks pleasantly surprised.

"Why don't I take you both out to dinner tonight and we can talk more about it?" He looks between us, "And your research, of course, Elise."

"I'm afraid I have dinner plans with my mother this evening." Dr. Nikolav shakes his head in disappointment. I cast him a furtive glance, and he notices my panic at the prospect of having to dine with Riley _alone_.

"But perhaps our friend James would like to accompany you two. He has a budding interest in nerve damage." He gestures in Bucky's direction, and I watch the polite smile of acknowledgement appear on Riley's face as he recognizes who Dr. Nikolav is talking about.

I resist the urge to scowl. Of all the people Dr. Nikolav could have picked to be the third wheel…

"That sounds like a great idea." Riley shows no sign of displeasure, "How's La Piazza on James Street, around 6? I can make reservations."

"Perfect." I force a smile.

Just perfect.

* * *

"Why are you investigating Riley behind my back?"

He gives a mere shrug, his pace never faltering as he walks ahead. I had to watch him like a hawk to catch him as he was leaving the party, but now I've finally got a chance to confront him about what Nikolav said.

" _Bucky_. I thought you said you wouldn't keep secrets." I frown, "The last time someone kept things from me, it didn't exactly work out."

"I'm _not_ Brock Rumlow." He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, levelling a piercing blue stare at me.

"You might as well be, given how much you don't tell me." I glance away, unwilling to let him see the disappointment that's probably written on my face.

I hate how much it hurts that he won't open up to me.

I know I should give him time, but it's hard when he simultaneously pushes me away and then gets jealous about Riley flirting with me. It's frustrating that he's so indecisive about where his feelings stand.

"I have my suspicions about him, that's all." He replies gruffly. "It's… it's not because he has feelings for you."

"Are you sure?" I turn my gaze on him, eyeing him critically.

He nods, but doesn't look at me directly.

"Then I'm sure you won't mind going to dinner with him tonight. With me."

I see the immediate flicker of disdain in his eyes, even before the scowl appears on his face.

"Why?"

Geez, his tone is so suspicious. He might not know Riley, but the man's not a villain. I'm not sure why Bucky is so wary around him if it's _not_ because of jealousy.

"To talk about research." I pause, a coy smile tugging at my lips, "If you don't want to go, I can just go by myself—"

"I'll go."

Thought so.


	11. Like Hell

"Why do you look so surprised?"

Bucky gazes at me with a frown as he adjusts his jacket cuffs at the bottom of the stairs.

"To be honest I… I didn't think you had formal clothing." I reply sheepishly, feeling slightly embarrassed.

He brushes off my ignorance with a curt shake of the head.

"There's more than one place to take out a target." He crosses the floor, doing up the buttons on the front of his jacket. Damn, though. He really does clean up well. In a suit and tie, you'd never take him for an assassin at first glance.

"Riley's not a target, so I don't need to remind you not to bring any weapons." I frown, meeting his gaze.

He hesitates, and it looks like he's about to argue, but he doesn't. Instead, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a handgun, setting it on the kitchen counter.

"That's all you've got?" I look at it skeptically.

Another gun materializes from his waistband. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he rolls his eyes, raising his hands in mock defeat.

"That's all." He scowls, "Do you want me to take off my arm too?"

"That's fine, thanks. I think I've _disarmed_ you sufficiently." I smile back, and his expression softens.

He looks me up and down for the first time, and I silently wait for a comment. It's just a simple evening dress, nothing extravagant.

"Are you sure you don't want to carry a gun in your purse—"

Oh my _god_.

"Bucky, _no_. We'll be _fine_." I fight back a sigh as I turn to the door, but the smile still tugs at my lips. You expect a man to make a comment about your looks when you've dressed up for the evening, but leave it to Bucky to worry about going somewhere unarmed.

* * *

When we arrive at the restaurant, I pay little attention to the lack of patrons entering, or the fact that it's quiet in the main hall. There's classical music playing softly in the background, but there's no clinking of glasses, no quiet chatter. The hostess leads us into the dining room. All the tables are empty, save for one in the center where Riley is already waiting for us.

He stands when he sees us come in, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"You look gorgeous, Elise. I always love the simple, understated look on women."

I flush at his compliment, managing only a polite thank you in response.

"Did you two arrive together?" He looks between us, his smile never faltering. It's an innocent enough question, and I sense no enmity in his voice. Just curiosity.

"Yeah, I drove us." I reply, glancing at Bucky. His expression is sober, his eyes glued to Riley even as he pulls out my chair for me. If the atmosphere weren't so awkward right now, I'd be delighted at the gesture.

"I see… I don't mean to be forward, but are you…" Riley's voice trails off, one eyebrow raised slightly at me.

"Are we…. Oh! No. We're not—" I fluster at the suggestion, "We're just friends."

Riley smiles, making no further comment on the topic.

I practically _feel_ Bucky bristle beside me, but I didn't lie.

He has yet to make his intentions clear. I said he didn't have to make up his mind overnight, but that doesn't mean I'm going to pretend we're something we're not.

A waiter approaches the table with a drink menu, and I politely decline, as does Bucky. Riley is the only one to request a glass of white wine.

I idly smooth down my dress, glancing around the restaurant. It's a decently sized dining room, lit by a few extravagant chandeliers and centerpiece candles on each table.

"Is it usually this empty?"

"Not at all. It's fairly popular on Friday nights. Fortunately my boss is a very wealthy and well-connected man." Riley replies, gesturing to the menus, "Feel free to order whatever you please."

"Your boss… at Cambridge?" I raise an eyebrow. Lavish dinners don't seem like an appropriate use of research funds.

"Elise, you should know better than most that I'm talking about private-sector sponsors." Riley smiles, opening his own menu.

Something isn't adding up here.

"So… the corporation sponsoring your current work reserved this very popular restaurant, months in advance, in anticipation of your visit. Is that right?" I stare back at him.

"Yes? I'm here for the Neuroxchange conference, after all." He gives me a look that suggests I'm asking stupid questions.

Except… you're _not_ here for the conference. Not according to Nikolav, anyway.

"I'd like to hear more about that, if you don't mind." I smile, closing my menu.

"Dinner before business, my dear." He shakes a finger at me, a smirk playing on his lips.

A waiter is promptly at our table to take our orders, and it's only then that we hear Bucky's voice again. He's been so silent that his presence has been more like a chaperone than a second guest.

Riley watches him with interest, swirling the wine in his glass absentmindedly.

"So, James. Nikolav tells me you're a writer. He said you write… what was it? German mystery novels?"

I bite my lip to force back the smile that threatens to appear on my face. Dr. Nikolav's lies are… creative, to say the least.

"I am," Bucky replies flatly.

"Oh? Working on any books right now?" Riley's eyebrows arch with interest, and I shift in my seat, desperately trying to hide my amusement.

"Actually, yes. It's called _Kümmere dich um deinen eigenen verdammten Kram_." Bucky's smile falters, threatening to expose his underlying resentment.

Riley doesn't seem to notice.

"Interesting." He muses, "I don't know any German, unfortunately. I do wish you luck, though."

I don't know any German either, and I'm _extremely_ grateful that he doesn't. I have a feeling that whatever Bucky just said was more akin to an insult than a novel title.

The waiter brings us our main meals just as Riley turns his attention to me, dazzling me with a smile that suggests he's back to ignoring the man beside me.

"I heard you landed a position with Shield last year, before the fallout."

Great. Because I'm _dying_ to talk about that over a hot meal.

"It was just a small-time research assistant gig." I shrug, picking up my fork. Maybe I'll get a bite in before I completely lose my appetite.

"Don't be so modest. Alexander Pierce wouldn't personally invite a mere RA to join his team." He waves off my comment, taking a sip of his drink.

"How did you know it was Alexander Pierce?" A sense of unease settles in my stomach.

That project was classified. Even _I_ didn't know who I'd be working under until I showed up on the first day—not until Alexander Pierce walked into the room himself after my interview with Michael. Not until I'd signed practically twenty pages worth of non-disclosure agreements.

"Well, you know how it was after Shield fell. A lot of information leaked to the web. You really think the scientific community doesn't know who was involved in Shield's research projects?" Riley looks completely unfazed by my question.

Fair point. I've never looked into how much information got out after the Shield leak, or how that might affect my chances at future employment.

"Does… does everyone know?"

"I'm afraid so. It'd be hard to find a new position at any institution without drawing attention to your previous employment—even though it certainly wasn't your fault that you got caught up in the mess."

Wordlessly, Bucky pours himself a glass of water. I glance at him, but aside from his clenched jaw I see no indication that he's interested in this conversation.

"That's actually part of… Rather, most of the reason for my visit." Riley's voice draws my attention back to him. I give him a questioning look, and he smiles.

"I was hoping to convince you to come back to England with me."

Bucky chokes on his water at this point. Though he tries to subdue his coughing for the next 15 seconds, he eventually gives up and excuses himself from the table.

I feel uncomfortable in his absence. Vulnerable. Like I've forgotten how to function in a social situation with a man who is _not_ Bucky or Dr. Nikolav.

"He seemed very surprised." Riley comments, chuckling a little.

"So am I." I reply, glancing at my plate. There goes every ounce of appetite I had.

"I didn't get a chance to explain, Elise." He reaches across the table, placing a hand on mine. It's a gesture Rumlow favoured, and I instinctively want to withdraw. Instead, I'm forced to look into his grey eyes.

"We have an opening at my lab. You saw my latest research… we could use your expertise on motor neurons. Our latest projects involve… interesting applications for military use. There's a lot of money involved." He smiles, "but I don't need to convince you of that, do I? This expensive reservation is just the tip of the iceberg."

"Riley, I'm not interested in any work that involves weapons, or the military, or people getting hurt because of my research." I pull my hand away, frowning.

"Think beyond that, Elise. You're an intelligent woman, you _know_ the kind of benefits that could trickle down to the public from this."

"I can't." I shake my head, "I don't want to leave DC."

He pauses for a moment, his gaze flickering to Bucky's empty seat.

"Don't want? Or can't?" He raises a critical eyebrow at me. What does he mean by that?

"We may not be dating, but I don't abandon friends." I reply.

"Well, he could possibly come along. His prosthetic hand is fascinating. I'd love to know—"

"He is _not_ a research subject." I scowl. He smirks, leaning back in his seat like he's lost an argument.

"You have a strong sense of loyalty, huh? You really are an attractive woman, Elise. I wish I'd noticed it sooner. My boss clearly did."

That last line feels vaguely threatening, and if it weren't for Bucky's prompt return to the table, I'd probably excuse myself too. He stands behind my chair, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

"We're leaving."

I ask no questions, collecting my purse from the table without a word.

"Not staying for dessert? I was just considering asking my boss to join us for the final course." Riley checks his watch.

"No thanks. But do enlighten me, Riley, you didn't come to DC for a conference. So who _is_ your boss?" I eye him carefully.

"Just a man with deep pockets and an interest in making the world a better place." He explains, "One who asked me to check up on a mutual acquaintance of ours. I'll be pleased to report to Mr. Rumlow that you're doing well."

Rumlow. I expected it to be someone from Shield or Hydra; I'd even considered the possibility that Pierce might be alive. I never expected _Rumlow_ to be Riley's 'private sector sponsor'.

"You may want to let James know that assassinating me with that butter knife would be a poor move, given my highly-regarded presence in the scientific community." Riley smiles serenely at me, and I glance down to see Bucky's fist clenched around the silver knife.

"Leave it." I murmur to him, "Let's just go."

There was a specific reason Rumlow picked Riley for this. He chose someone I know, but not someone too close. Someone he could manipulate with money and promises, someone too well-perceived in the public eye to be assassinated without questions being raised.

Damn it.

"Tell Rumlow to leave me alone, and don't you _dare_ show your face around me again." I glare at Riley as I stand, not bothering to tuck my chair in.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be hearing from him personally at some point." He shrugs, the smile never disappearing from his face.

Like hell I will.


	12. Jealous

_Yikes... how many months has it been? Really, terribly sorry for the disappearance guys. I got stuck, and it was hard for me to find a way to continue. Believe me when I say that the recent messages and reviews you guys posted really cheered me up and motivated me to go on. Thank you so much to all of you for waiting and checking for updates even though I've been irresponsible lol. I absolutely promise that I'll finish this fic before Civil War :P (also, thank you to BubbleBakerPenguinPie for the translation fix on the last chapter)  
_

* * *

The steady tap of his metal fingers becomes more incessant as time goes on. I ignore his growing impatience, watching a trio of screaming children race by our table as they play with their newly acquired happy meal toys.

I guess I'm running too—running from the inevitable conversation he's waiting for me to start.

 _I know_ we should discuss what happened, but I can't bring myself to broach the topic. Instead, I continue to make meaningless small talk as I finish my meal, the tap, tap, tapping of his fingertips drumming a steady rhythm into the back of my brain.

And then it stops.

I glance at him, finding his piercing blue gaze focused wearily on me.

"Elise…" He sighs, leaning forward as he lowers his voice, "You don't have to force yourself to act normal."

"I'm not." I force an uncomfortably fake laugh.

"Really?" He shoots a pointed look at me, the word coming out more like a sarcastic retort than a question.

" _Really_. I'm fine." I manage a feeble smile, though there's clearly no convincing him.

" _Or_ you're afraid," His blue eyes search my face, "You don't want to go home, because you're afraid that Rumlow is alive."

I drop my gaze, realizing how futile it is to argue against the truth. Denying it doesn't make it any less real. Doesn't make _him_ any less real.

"It was stupid for me to ignore the possibility that Rumlow could have survived. Considering how often I thought of him after the… incident… it should have crossed my mind. I just never imagined he'd go through Riley to get to me." I frown.

Can't beat myself up for being naïve, though. Riley may have been acting differently than the last time I saw him, but different doesn't necessarily mean _in-league-with-a-rogue-hydra-henchman_.

"It's not your fault." He murmurs, "You're not used to these people and their ways."

I watch his gaze flicker across the faces in other booths… strangers nonchalantly enjoying their evenings. Blissfully ignorant people who don't have the slightest knowledge of mercenaries, manipulation and military organizations.

"You should have let me deal with him. I could have made him tell me everything he knows." There's a cold, assured tone in his voice, and I don't doubt him at all.

"I'm not sure he knows anything more than what he told us. And anyway, if you attacked him… even if you just hurt him, you'd be on the run." I shake my head.

"I've been on the run for 50 years. I doubt anyone can catch me now—"

"I don't want you to leave." The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I'm saying.

Great job, Elise. How much more clingy can I possibly sound?

Surprise flashes briefly through his eyes, and his expression softens, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He runs a hand through his neatly combed hair and returns it to its regular, looser state.

That's when I notice the flash of red on his shirt cuff. It wasn't there earlier this evening when we were getting ready to go out. He catches the subject of my gaze, rolling his jacket sleeve up slightly to reveal a blood stain.

"There were a couple hired thugs in the bathroom. I took care of them."

I guess that explains why he told me we had to leave.

"Sorry, Bucky. I should have trusted your instincts on Riley." I gaze ruefully at the table top between us, "It could have gone worse if that situation was an ambush."

"I'm the one who should apologize. I may have been right about the guy in the end, but I had my own reasons for wanting to investigate him too, and I wasn't entirely truthful about that." He's frowning, and there's hesitation in his voice, like he wants to say something more.

I wait.

He stands suddenly, startling me. But he's just picking up the tray with its scrunched up wrappers and empty cups, intending to dispose of them in the nearest trash bin.

A part of me still tugs desperately at the option of staying out for a little longer, but I know I can't avoid the inevitable all night.

I'm standing by the time he returns to the table.

"Let's go home."

* * *

The drive back is silent, and that does nothing to stem the rising anticipation that something is about to happen. To make matters worse, the roads are strangely peaceful for a Friday evening. I can't help second-guessing every vehicle, wondering if we're being followed by every car to cross our path.

Bucky was right; it doesn't take a genius to see how nervous I am about returning to the house. I look to him for some kind of reassurance, but his gaze is focussed on the city beyond his window, and he remains like that for the rest of the drive home.

He quickly snaps out of that state when I pull into the driveway; his seatbelt is already unbuckled, one hand on the door handle before the car has even stopped moving.

I watch him scope the area around the house, telling myself my fears are irrational. Rumlow—if it's truly even him—wouldn't arrange a third party meeting only to immediately force a direct confrontation here.

But I can't even say with confidence what he _would_ do; I know so little about how his brain works.

Bucky unlocks the door and steps aside expectantly, wordlessly watching me enter the house, lingering protectively close for my reassurance. It helps to quell the discomfort that accompanies the darkness I step into, but not by much.

The act of driving kept my mind from processing what happened at dinner, but now the pieces are beginning to fall together as I realize what all of this means. While Rumlow is alive and out there, I don't get to live a normal life. No, I made the mistake of dating a hydra menace.

I hear the door close and the lock turn. Bucky switches the lights on, and I look over to see him drop his keys on the table beside the door.

"You're not going out?" My voice, barely louder than a whisper, still seems too much for the small space.

"I think you need me more right now than I need to be out there." He shoves his hands into his pockets, regarding me with a sober expression.

I'm grateful, but he gives me no chance to express it. He quickly moves past me, heading to the basement before making his way upstairs to—I assume—check the remaining rooms in the house for the presence of any intruders.

I slip my heels off, trying—and failing—to distract myself from the unpleasant events of the evening.

Easier said than done, that's for sure.

As I pour myself a glass of water, my eyes settle on the loaded handguns sitting untouched on the counter of the breakfast bar. Just as we left them.

I lose myself for a moment, remembering the sensation of having a finger on the trigger. Taking the shot. Could I do it, if Rumlow was going to kill me?

… No, I probably couldn't.

I've already taken one life, and one life is too many for any person.

Bucky's footsteps are so quiet that I barely notice him until he appears at the bottom of the staircase. His expression is reassuringly neutral, and I feel some of my stress dissipate.

"No one's been here." He takes off his jacket, dropping it flippantly on the couch as he crosses the floor to stand across from me at the bar.

I take in the sight of his slightly dishevelled hair and unbuttoned collar, temporarily distracted by how handsome he looks even in this state. He angles his head slightly, questioning my silence.

"What did you tell Riley when he asked what you were writing?" I smile.

"Something along the lines of _mind your own damn business_." A smirk plays on his lips, and he looks assuredly satisfied with himself.

"Well… lucky he doesn't speak German then." I joke.

"I almost wish he did." He replies, and there's an undertone in his voice that I can't place. It reminds me of his comments at McDonalds, when he confessed that he had personal motives for disliking Riley.

"When you…. That is, when you were talking about why you didn't like him, and not being truthful… what did you mean?"

"I was jealous." He runs a hand through his hair, "I denied it, but I was."

"Jealous? Of what?" I gape at him in slight disbelief. Half the psych department pines for this man, but he's threatened by _Riley?_

He's frustrated by my question, like I'm too stupid to see the obvious.

"He's like you. Intelligent. A scientist. And I thought you were going to say yes when he asked you to go to England with him." He rounds the counter until we're just a foot apart.

I brush off his concern with a half-snort. Really, how dense can he be? How many times have I implicated to him that he's the only one I care about? Here I thought I was being clingy, but he still thinks there are other people I'd rather be with.

"I wouldn't. I told you I'm not interested." I protest.

"I know that now." He replies, his eyes fixated on me.

"... Anyway, he has no honour and works with Rumlow." I shift under his gaze.

Mentioning his name leaves an uncomfortable silence between us, and it makes me lament bringing it up. Still, what's done is done.

"Do you think it's true that he's here?" I frown.

"I wish you wouldn't worry about him so much." Bucky steps forward, lifting a hand to gingerly cup my cheek. The gesture catches me off-guard, leaving me unable to respond.

" _I'm_ here, and I'll protect you." He murmurs, his eyes locked on mine, "That's all that matters."

He's so close that I feel the tension mounting between us like a static charge, the expectation of a spark imminent. So close I can see his individual lashes, and the subtle movements in his facial muscles as he contemplates the silence.

So close that if he doesn't break away soon, something is bound to change between us.

I know he senses it, but he makes no move to pull back. Instead, he comes nearer still, closing the final distance with little hesitation.

"Can I kiss you?" His breath caresses my skin, and it's enough to send a jolt of electricity coursing through my body. There's no going back now.

I nod, too breathless to respond. His lips press against mine, and they're warm, soft. Welcoming. Slowly, gently, he pulls me closer, pressing me to him as he deepens the kiss like this is all he's wanted to do since the day he met me. It's not fire and passion. It's affection and longing, like savouring the warmth of the sun on a frigid winter day.

If this is his first kiss in a long time, I sure can't tell. He moves with natural instinct as his lips capture mine, his breathing steady and unchanged. It feels like I'm the only one with butterflies in my stomach and a heartbeat approaching Mach 1.

For an instant I forget the cup of water I'm holding, and I register the feeling of it slipping out of my hand too late. I break away just as it shatters into pieces on the cold floor, leaving a mess of broken glass and water all over the tiles.

"Oh god… I'm so sorry, I completely forgot I had it—" I move to pick up the pieces but he blocks me with an upheld hand.

"I'll clean it up." He shakes his head, "You should get some sleep."

"Are you sure?" My brows rise in concern. He nods, a rare smile on his lips.

No, no, no… this is all wrong. What if he thinks I did this to get out of that kiss? What if he thinks I changed my mind?

I hesitate as I bid him goodnight.

"You don't ever have to ask me, by the way." I lean forward, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I'll keep that in mind." He chuckles softly as I walk away.

"Oh, and Elise?"

I glance back from the bottom of the stairs.

"You looked beautiful tonight."


End file.
